My then-wife used to plan our vacations. It was a simple case of her being better at it than me and having more interests. I wanted to see major league ball parks, so we went one year to Miami, the next to Pittsburgh. Left to my own devices, these would have been weekend trips. With her flair, they turned into three-and-four-day excursions.
One year, to be fair to her, I volunteered to undertake the task. I had planned a glorious road trip through Louisville to Chicago, with a day trip up to Milwaukee, and then return to Charlotte via Dyersville, Iowa, and St. Louis. This trip would add 4 major league stadiums to my lifetime list, eat at Jim Lovell’s restaurant, let us see a live taping of Whad’ya Know?, visit the Field of Dreams. I was psyched and she was game. Until the budget topped out at over $1000. It was just too much, we couldn’t afford it and the notion of putting it on the credit card we’d finally paid off was verboten. So the whole thing got scrapped.
Before the echo of those plans crashing to the floor had died, we had an opportunity given to us to go to Cairo. And $2500 dollars worth of airline tickets on our credit card later, I finally had concrete evidence of exactly how important my dreams and goals were to her.
Please note, I am not saying I don’t value having been to Cairo. That’s a completely different discussion.
Slight hijack - that is what prompted my first email to this board. I emailed and asked. Lynn replied with the truth with the added gem “keep on plugging” and it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship between me and the board…
A - Get a ticket for blowing his car horn at midnight on New Years’ Eve in Manhattan - by blowing it at a police car stopped to give someone else a ticket.
B - Get thrown out of a nightclub and into the street by the bouncers at Max’s Kansas City even though he was the offical photographer for the band.
C- Get arrested by the San Francisco police because he refused to acknowlege he had done anything wrong after a traffic stop - would not open his window or unlock the door. They finally maced him when he agreed to pop the sunroof so they could pass in the ticket - then they smashed his car window and carted him off to jail.
D - Have his car stereo stolen while lying unconcious in his car after an accident.
I remember a Ron. A StevenRon, but a Ron nonetheless.
I was friends with him in high school. He was tall, blonde, and lanky, and smelled bad. His expletive of choice was “fucking shit!” in a high-pitched whine. He started his own clan on a popular online game, and called it the “Rage of Death Army” because it sounded super sweet.
Much to my (and my friends’) chagrin, Ron always seemed to have a girlfriend, while we had none. What was his secret? He wasn’t very attractive, smelled bad, was of average intelligence, pretty lazy, sported a perpetual half-grown 'stache, smelled bad. One day we figured it out: he was sixteen with his own car, and all of his girlfriends were fourteen or fifteen. And as soon as they turned sixteen, they mysteriously became single. I last ran into him a year ago at Sears, and reckon he was twenty-one, maybe bordering on twenty-two. His new girlfriend was cute. Fifteen, but cute.
Ron was also a paintball enthusiast, and tried to convince me that his dad, who worked at the local University, had passed him some super secret heat-seeking paintballs. That change direction in midair.
My faith in humanity refuses to believe there are Rons out there. But my inner sociopath is cackling with glee and leading the other anthropomorphic manifestations of my subconscious in doing the wave.
I just read the OP to my husband. As I read it I thought it was written about his sister, and a few of her boyfriends, right down to this last one who she just married. (#3 marriage). He even runs a restaurant!
I laughed so hard, that the hubby had to have me read it to him.
The Burger King punch line, was the best!!!
Thanks for the laugh. Now I will go back and read more.
Now that I have read through most of the “Ron” thread I have to say he is Randy Quaid, as “Cousin Eddie” in the Vacation movies, to me.
I know a few Rons, and even dated a Ron-Jay in college(1983), for about 2 months. I forgive myself, because I was 18 and away from home for the first time.
The last I heard of my Ron-Jay was that he was shot in the leg, while in a dance club. I wish I knew that whole story. It was no Plaxico Burress type of thing either, someone else shot him. Any kind of shooting is pretty rare in the town where I went to college, so it was big news.
