Come Back to Texas Chapter 1: "Smoothie King" (starter)

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On April 12th, 2002, I took the plunge.
Yes, that plunge.
I did not invest my savings into the stock market….but I did take a risk.
I didn't go bungie jumping…you know, I can't think of a good analogy to go with that at the moment . No, I decided to allow my girlfriend of two years to move into my apartment. I mean, we were serious…didn't have the joint bank account but, you know, we were “like that”, finished up each other's sentences and knew the tone and timbre of each other’s snores. Like I said, “like that”. Sure, we had some issues…I hated to do laundry…and when the Cowboys were playing, nothing else mattered. She once stated that sometimes I don’t listen to her…or something like that.
We’re not together anymore…well, we are now...but it's better to start long stories on a downer so that maybe you'll think more of me than she did during the issue.
It was worth a shot.
It wasn't my fault…I tried everything. She said she needed a break, a little time to think…so well, it's complicated. Tell the barista you want the strongest cup of coffee and a blueberry scone…which is the exact opposite of what we had when we first met.

Come Back to Texas
Recipes are adapted from: "Like Water for Chocolate" by Laura Esquivel

1 can sardines
1/2 chorizo sausage
1 onion
oregano
1 can chiles serranos
10 hard rolls
PREPARATION: Take care to chop the onions. To keep from crying like a freshman when you chop it, you should have a six-pack of beer handy. The crap about crying over an onion is that once those waterworks get started, the next thing you know you just can't stop thinking about the stupid things you did in life, like dating Stacy Martin and finding yourself thrown out of a second story window by her dad who kept your Game Boy Pocket. I don't know whether that's ever happened to you, but I have to confess it's happened to me, many times—I have lost several Game Boys over time. Mom used to say it was because I was especially sensitive to onions, or maybe I was a dumbass.
Not sure.

I. Smoothie King

“Oh yeah. Check out that cluster.”
“I would love to mount that.”
“Gonna need a helmet, maybe two, to handle her.”
The four us stared in awe at a magazine with the brand freaking-spanking-sexy-new Kasumi Motors Nakaruru 42X 1200cc. She was beautiful. It didn’t matter if there was a large, light magenta, some would say pink, stripe down the middle of the frame…I wanted it. Problem was the price…if I sold everything I owned and every pint of blood I could muster, not to mention my soul, I would have enough to maybe purchase the front wheel tire…inflation tube. Santa Claus stopped visiting long ago…Ed McMahon was dead and I only gambled when I ordered from McDonald’s.
Money aside, I still couldn’t get it if I wanted to.
“Amber would never let you buy that.”
I nodded as I walked away from the group. Yeah, that’s true, Amber would never let me even attempt to purchase the engine oil for such a thing. She would say to “be practical” and “pay off your student loans” or even go as far as to mention “invest it in something.” After that, she’d mention that she still loved me but wished I would:
Get a clue about my life sometimes (said in that “aww, bless your heart” tone.)
Get a better job than the one I have/had have/may not have come the next day.
Stop playing in a band with “those guys”.

Yes, I was in a band. No gigs (unless we offered) and our Facebook page had nothing but pictures of our last time playing beer pong. We called ourselves “Those Guys at the Bar” because that’s what someone called us at our first venue. We were a progressive rock group with a little bit of heay metal and the blues. Plus, we knew maybe four chords, but that’s more than most garage bands had in the 90’s, you know?
Gary Dolenz, our drummer, was also the one who owned the van used to tour with. Or, I should say, the HVAC company he worked for owned the van and we had to cover the decals and logos with washable finger paint whenever he went out of town.
Erik Örnólfsdóttir, played bass and usually left it after every concert due to getting drunk after the set. So, we also usually handcuffed him to his guitar. Bass guitars ain’t cheap.
Chris Collins, our lead guitarist and accountant. He was like that guy, Face, on ‘The A-Team” who was able to procure anything we needed on demand. This usually required him to need stitches at the local hospital. He has a great dental plan too.
And, lastly, I’m Derek Reddick. And, no, it's kind of pink with some white, I’m not really sure, I don’t study it. Anyway, I’m lead vocals, I love Mexican food and it was at such an establishment that I met Amber.



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This story is 883 words long.