Summer Series Part 6: Summer's Over

How's it hanging, blogosphere? Sir Marcus again here, bringing you the final installment of the summer blog series, in lieu of us now being in the second week of fall semester.

I know what you're thinking and you're right: The updates to my page here are pretty fuckin sweet. Bear with me, as the whole thing is still a work in progress. For those 3 or 4 of you out there still fondly reminiscing the days of Myspace/Blackplanet/Xanga/Bebo, we'll just say my page is still "under construction."

If you weren't thinking about the page, then you were probably thinking that it's been far too long since you heard from me here, and I will also agree with that. As was brought to my attention by my former partner in crime - we'll call her Honey Munchkins, or HM for short - I don't keep up with this thing as much as I should. Always the one to try to keep me in line, HM raised a valid point and helped me see that the true victims of my procrastination are you, the blogosphanatics for which I do this. She actually didn't say that last part in so many words, but the two of us have an innate telepathic synergy that allowed me to infer that on my own. So for that, I apologize and will try to make a better effort.

With the obligatory half-assed apology now taken care of, let's get you all updated on the happy haps of the world as I've seen it since we last spoke.

- This is officially my 9th semester of college at the University of Missouri, placing me in what is commonly referred to as the "super-senior" year, or my "victory lap," if you will. While there are things about college that aren't as glamorous - I'm talking to YOU, any and all math-related courses - I have thoroughly enjoyed my tenure here at the 'Zou. Were the decision left up to me, I would probably stay here forever, just skating by on making friends and celebrating the enjoyable parts of college, a la my man Van Wilder, but my mother doesn't quite see it that way. Parents just don't understand.

- This week concludes my 3rd consecutive stint as a temporary textbook stocker at the bookstore, and this time was even better than the previous two, chock full of more hijinks and shenanigans than your average Animaniacs cartoon. (If you got that reference, then you're my kinda person, but if you didn't, then shame on you for not growing up watching cartoons in the 90's; your ignorance is astounding).

Anyways, aside from a few less-than-reputable characters, I made some good friends with the guys and gals that slaved around the store with me everyday. I even tried my hand at starting my first ever workplace romance, and though that - much like many attempted ones before it - predictably failed not long thereafter for reasons perhaps out of my control (think George Costanza), if given another shot, I don't think I would go about it any differently. In my defense, this girl - the ol' Ball & Chain, as we've so affectionately dubbed her in our circle - has dimples that can not, will not, SHALL NOT be ignored; don't even bother. I certainly never had a shot. Though the only logical explanation to the failed courtship is that she clearly has abysmal taste in men - this much awesomeness must be off-putting - she's a great gal and I consider myself lucky to know her, regardless of the extent of our friendship going forward. Okay, now give me a moment to wash the feeling of sappiness from that last line off of me....

Aside from the ol' Ball & Chain, my social life has been infused with some much-needed testosterone.  This is not intended as any slight to Gossip Girl and Bo Peep, but I don't think they truly realize that being the male tour guide in the college meat market for two attractive young ladies like them made it that much tougher for someone as introverted as myself to meet new girls when I was either busy helping them fend off creepers or quietly brooding to the side as guy after guy approached them, regardless of whether I was there or not. When doing this on a week-to-week basis, I'm sure that me being attached to them so often has resulted in my sexuality being quietly questioned multiple times, so a change of pace was sorely needed. I mean, let's face it - when guys go out together, it's more or less a team effort so more often than not, there's a wingman to rely on. That same dynamic might apply with girls too, but when the group is a mixture of the two, then all bets are off. So basically, if you're a guy going out with girls, whether they wanna admit it or not, once they're approached by a potential suitor, their accompanying guy friend is on his own; this is the situation I most often found myself in this summer, and as fun as it sounds, I find it hard to get myself up for this week after week.

So anyways, me and the fellas from the store have gotten pretty tight - namely me and my boys Chuck Goldenrod (CG) and Baby Deer (BD). Between the 3 of us, we've managed to form quite the team of cutups, whether it be belting out our delightful group melody of "Afternoon Delight" on a whim, delegating some of our own work assignments on the lesser temps (namely B&C and her cohorts), constantly quoting "Anchorman," "The Hangover," and "Stepbrothers," or making "Formal Fridays" a mighty force to be reckoned with, the three of us clicked pretty much immediately. In fact, we've long harbored a theory that our supervisor has been slowly and systematically devising ways of breaking down our tripod so as to consolidate power to himself and the permanent staff. So much for team morale, right? Haters gonna hate, I guess. But even though our time as coworkers draws to a close, I'm sure that me and my bromosexuals will continue to kick up shit together all year, because we refuse to let the man hold us down.

- Football season is finally here. While we're still in the preseason for the NFL, Opening Day is only like 2 weeks away and I'm sure I speak for us all when I say it's about fucking time. Though I've grown to appreciate baseball more than I used to, there really is no substitute for some good ol' pigskin. Something about seeing big, strong, buff men in tight.............. helmets run around and be a little violent speaks to sports fans in a very superficial and aesthetic way. Football is a release for the inherent violent testosterone that most of us men need and for those of us who can't do it ourselves anymore, watching it allows us to live vicariously through those that can, even if we sometimes allow our thoughts and feelings to hinge a little too much onto what is really just a game. The summer months, for all of their brevity, sometimes seem too long when they don't give us sports fans something to occupy our time. And no offense other little-to-no contact sports, but golf and baseball just don't cut it for me. So come September, I'll be all too happy to welcome the mighty Dolphins of Miami back into my life, and if there is a football god, he'll allow those insufferably arrogant NY Jets to crash and burn this season. Let the church say amen.

This seems like as good a stopping place as any. I've enjoyed catching up with you knuckleheads, so let's not wait so long before we do this again, mmmmmmmmkay? Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams signing off..... Ya'll take care now.