Chapter One

Here is Chapter One of my untitled story. Give me feedback...let me know if I have truly captured the over-the-top style indicative of this period.

Chapter One

Sitting in the rather ornate and yet undersized space known as Dragon Investigative Services, Inc., I had come to realize it was the perfect fit for a recovering alcoholic, ex-lawyer turned private eye fresh off a bitter divorce and an all the more bitter marriage of seven unbearable years who’s fallen off the wagon so many times that there is permanent damage. Finding my way here more by accident and a bad case of the shakes than any real sense of purpose, I had lucked out.

“So what’ll it be?” inquired the lanky gentleman positioned behind the marble counter, sliding a clipboard across the smooth surface.

“Martini-neat,” I replied, more out of instinct than any desire to quench that insatiable beast within me.

He gave me a quizzical look, perhaps considering whether honoring a man’s drink request at 9 a.m. was proper social etiquette. Apparently deciding against playing bartender, he tossed a pen embossed with the DIS, Inc. logo, a beautifully elegant Chinese dragon, onto the clipboard. “I was referring to your business here, Mr….?”

I had not yet considered why I was here, which left me in a rather unusual state of confusion and contemplation. I certainly did not want to tip my hand too early, but playing blind had never worked to my advantage. Gambling, I offered the first name I could conjure up in the haze of my conscious mind, “Johnny Walker.” I extended my hand expecting an introduction, but instead was met with a small chuckle and a slight headshake. Apparently I had a one-track mind this morning.

“Okay, Mr….Walker. Just sign-in and the boss will be with you soon.” There was humor in his voice, but it sounded almost like pity. He left the room with little sound, leaving me in silence, except for the scratching of the pen as I searched the recesses of my mind for a reason to be here.

10 Things I Hate to Ingest....

So today I went to the allergist for the first time since I was two. For me, going to the allergist is like a trip to a candy store—there are just so many allergens to choose from. Well, the doctor chose 42 just for me. Not quite as many flavors as Baskin Robbins, but enough to get a taste for what kills me. They prick my back in numbered spots and let drops of different allergens get under my skin. Then they wait to see what happens. Basically, it is a toned down version of what Patrick has always wanted to do. And I had to pay for it. But anyways, I found NEW things that I get to be allergic to!! Isn’t that exciting? I knew that you all thought this was impossible, but I say “Ha!” I can be allergic to anything if I only put my mind to it. So besides peanuts, and every other kind of nut except Brazil Nuts for some reason (though he advised me not to try them), I continue to be allergic to eggs, cats, and dogs. Now the list gets more fun. I added birds, every kind of grass that can be grown under the sun, dust mites, and fish. Yes, fish. Those furry little fish. It’d be funnier if it was fish dander, but I’m not quite sure how you would make that. Apparently I developed this allergy quite recently (over the past two years of so), and it is now one of my most severe reactions. The doctor was surprised that I didn’t die in South Bend. Well this fish news was not kosher with me, so I asked him, “Hey Doc, isn’t it unusual to develop death allergies (technical term) at my age?” To which he answered,” Why yes; Yes, it is.” He was quite the conversationalist. So, guess where I’m going tomorrow? Can anyone say “Deep Sea Fishing!!!?” I figure I’m okay as long as a fish doesn’t bite me…then I may be in for some trouble. But, long story short, Patrick, you can now throw fish at me for comedic effect. Although somehow I doubt me being allergic to them would make you throwing a fish at me any funnier. I guess we’ll just have to see.

Inventory Has Never Been So Exciting...

So, the tire trolls of Wilcox Road fame have now claimed two complete sets of tires. The 8th, (and I pray the final), tire was claimed the past weekend. As I journeyed home from Pcola about 11:15 pm, I heard that oh-so-familiar "thump-thump-thump-thump-thump" followed by my car (apologies to mags, here) shaking worse than a recovering alcoholic. So naturally I pulled off the side of the road and onto the shoulder, only the find that the guardrail prevented me from getting over very far at all. I had about 2 1/2 feet between me and the interstate. Of course, the tire in question was my driver's side rear, so I was forced to change it in the dark while laying on the interstate. All good fun. Now in order to get to my spare, I had to completely empty my trunk. For those of you that know me, this was no easy task. But, having now done it, I thought a complete inventory of what can be found in my trunk may prove useful. Here is the list:

2 flat basketballs
1 pumped basketball
1 flat football
1 jr sized football
1 NCAA regulation football
4 baseballs (1 autographed)
1 tee-ball
7 tennis balls
2 raquet balls
6 softballs
3 loose golf balls
2 packages of tees
1 set of golf clubs
1 box of golf balls
1 bikini bottom (I seriously don't know who this belongs too)
1 bikini top (same as above)
1 pair of jumper cables
1 sleeping bag
2 long ropes
3 baseball gloves
1 kickball
2 tennis racquets (neither of which are mine, but by the rules of my car, I have claimed)
2 racquetball racquets
1 baseball bat
1 pair of tennis shoes
1 volleyball (volenis ball)
1 bocce set

Now I think this is everything. I think. Why I thought posting this would be fun, I'm not really sure. But having it typed up makes me laugh, and that's what important.

On a side note, I've played with the idea of writing a hard-boiled style story chapter by chapter just for kicks on the blog. Let me know if you'd be interested in reading it. It would have no literary merit, but I would see how long I could make my sentences and how many adjectives I could possibly fit. It might prove fun.

Also, nobody comments on my blogs. That makes me sad.

So this is neither a true Spencer blog or a life-update, so take that! You can't put me in that box...

....like a fox.