“It’s a positive thing to talk about terrible things and make people laugh about them.”

-Louis C. K.

I’m bored and on lunch. It’s one of those unusually hot days for Sacramento and it’s October. I’m not a man built for this climate, I’m a man designed to last the winter (spare tire/Love-Handles) so naturally I’m not in the best of moods. I don’t much appreciate needing to invest in baby powder when I’m in between checks. While on my lunch I’ve chosen to set my lineup for this week’s Fantasy Football match against “The Great Hambino”. Hambino and I go back several years and in fact is a good friend of mine but for this week my sole mission is to split his belly and rob him of his manhood, safely securing the Top Dog position in our League. Life ambitions, I know. Nothing sexier than a man that dedicates his time to being an “owner”, wheeling and dealing like he’s actually you know employed by Roger Goodell and the Nation Football League. Early today, while doing my daily morning swipes(I do my best work on the toilet) Hambino had messaged me and continued our thread of shit talking leading up to this match. These attempts to get in each other’s head in order to create an advantage (at the time of this publication he’s somewhere between John Kerry and Tanya Harding) were becoming barbaric and downright disgusting. I can’t publish anything in those threads but think Reddit and the AMA entries(Ask Me Anything) to gain some understanding. Something about Fantasy Football just makes everything that much more personal. I’m going bury this man on the field, never mind the multi million dollar athletes that are playing the game tomorrow, they have no barring on this outcome. It was at that moment that I realized my Dad time (those brief hours not dedicated to work or the attempt not to ruin your seed’s childhood and preserve the legacy of your last name) had become Tinder, Fantasy Football, Scotch and writing about Tinder. Where the hell has my life gone? When did I turn into the bizaro 2015 version of the orginal “Thief of Hearts and Lady Parts”, my father?

He was a Sergio as well, I say was because we’ve had no contact other than an interlude while I was vacationing in the Motherland last year. That encounter ended with drunk phone calls, him trying to party like it was 1999 and the always entertain public argument. Cheers to vacations gone wrong! Back to our suddenly similar lifestyle though. As I write this I recall his fondness for a good beer but for the life of me I can’t tell you what his version of the Sturgeon was? I would like to imagine he had his own miniature Mexican version of Mark there to advise and humor him. There had to be some combo of Banda (Mexican Country), Lisa Lisa and Stevie B blaring in the background as well. This would be Paisa bar would be delightfully seedy and full of questionable women named Xochitl (pronounced “SOH-cheel”) that looked as rough as their name sounded. When I would get older I would go through a similar phase. Even purchased me some Levi’s, a Ranchero Hat and knock off pointy boots. The look didn’t work particularly well nor did it serve as a good profile pic for online dating. Sergio had vices just as I do. He swiped right with extreme prejudice but in the 90s and in real life! This is proven by the fact that I have brothers and sisters spread out across the coast of Mexico and possibly elsewhere in Merrica. Hola famila! Como te va? If you’re reading this I thank you for the support and it solves the question of who in Mexico took the time to translate this. I will not be able to pay you any future royalties though so don’t even think about it.

I can only thank God that man didn’t have a Smartphone back then. Can you imagine a darker, more perverted version of me that spoke fluent Spanish? With that kind of access to women? Who knows the damage he could have done. Come to think of it, he might actually own a Smartphone now, he is on Facebook and posts pictures of dogs, beer and shrimp from time to time. That means he has the internet, which means he might in fact be in Tinder?  What if the Old Man is somewhere in Mexico doing Tinder in Español? What if he started reading this blog and has been living vicariously through me and now Tinders in Mexico and my thoughts as a blueprint? Fuck, I may be responsible for a señoritas heartbreak, pregnancy and eventual rath. Talk about the Butterfly Effect. What could even be even worse is that he may have started swiping before I even decided to cross over to the dark side. That makes him Darth Vader to my a Middle Management version of Luke but with my hand firmly in tact. I don’t know what I would do without my right hand. I’ve never swiped with my left, that seems wrong and like a stranger or something. So what does this rant mean? Some may say that I’m out of line for this entry and some may be able to relate. I would say I’ve come to peace with that portion of my life and forgive the guy for his faults. It’s not easy to become a father at 18 with limitations in education, work and problem management. He tried, he did damage but he tried. I think we turned out just fine. What does scare me is that I may have become a carbon copy just with better resources, stronger abilities and knack to communicate through writing. Could this prove that history does in fact repeat itself? Please tell me it doesn’t. Does this mean I’ll eventually have a bunch of mini me’s running around speaking Spanish and rocking giant belt buckles with a love F150s? That’s way too much child support for me to handle. That’s all for now, my minds been blown wide right and I’m feeling the need to listen to some Marco Antonio Solis. Time to swipe and figure out my Saturday Night.