I waited three years for this?

December, 2006. Oh what a night.

Do you remember where you were?

I sure do. For that was when I somehow coerced a female into an evening out with me. We went to the movies. The film? Rocky Balboa, not surprisingly. That was also the last time I had been to a movie theater. Until last weekend.

I don't know what it was that brought me back. Maybe it was all the talk about the Oscars. Maybe it was the lack of anything better to do. Or maybe it simply took me this long to coerce another female into spending an evening with me. Whatever it was, the almost-three-and-a-half-year streak is over.

It will go down as one of the great streaks of all-time. Right up there with not drinking any carbonated beverages for sixty-three consecutive days in the late nineties, my 18-game winning streak in online Scrabble, and of course, "The Streak" by Ray Stevens.

So what did I see? Well, I considered the usual suspects -- The Blind Side, The Hurt Locker -- but you don't end a streak as impressive as this one with some run-of-the-mill Oscar-nominated Hollywood fluff. Also, neither of those were playing at the quadplex that we attended. No, our choices were Valentine's Day, Alice In Wonderland, Shutter Island, and Cop Out.

So naturally, we/I decided on Cop Out. If the streak was gonna die, it was going out with a classic. Co-starring Tracy Morgan and the incomparable Bruce Willis, along with special guest star Stiffler from American Pie, how could we go wrong?

The theater was pretty much state-of-the-art... for the 1980's. I half-expected to see a Tab dispenser on their soda fountain. And as someone who has only been to the movies twice in the past three-plus years, I won't attempt to do a movie review. But let me just say this was the best Bruce Willis movie I've seen since Sixth Sense.

Of course, it's also the first Bruce Willis movie I've seen since Sixth Sense. But now I'm just splitting hairs.

"Oh, what a night. Late December back in '63. What a very special time for me, 'cause I remember what a night..."

Pride goeth before (and after) a fall

The improbable sequence of events that led to me googling "how to get blood out of clothes" is unimportant and rather unremarkable. Nevertheless, before the blog paparazzi buries me beneath a mountain of rumor and innuendo, allow me to elucidate.

I went to a basketball game. Walking up the bleachers, I banged my head on an unfortunately placed electrical box which was mounted to the underside of one of the support beams that runs across the coliseum. Not wanting to cause a scene (read: suffer any further embarrassment), I shook it off and sat down.

Well, I evidently misunderestimated the severity of the blow. An hour later, noticing it was still hurting, I rubbed my head and felt something wet. I'd run into a friend at the game, so as we were leaving I took off my cap and got her to assess the damage. At the time, I wasn't quite able to place the look on her face. But in hindsight, I now know it as the I'm-really-trying-not-to-alarm-you-but-how-are-you-still-standing-because-there-is-blood-spurting-out-of-your-head look.

Oh, I exaggerate. A little. It was just a tiny lava-like trail of blood streaming down my head. I felt like Rocky. The worst part was that I had quite a bit of blood on my cap, which was white. If it had been a shirt, I wouldn't have cared, I would have just thrown it away. But this was my favorite Bama cap. This was serious.

By the way, you come across some odd and interesting things googling "how to get blood out of clothes." Things you would rather not have known. Things like, "Karen and I opted to have our children born at home, so naturally we have had to deal with a lot of blood." Ugh.

The next day, as fate devilishly licked her lips, I was scheduled to run a 5K in Nashville. Not knowing much about head trauma, but seeing that the bleeding had mostly stopped and there was only a little seepage now, I just assumed I'd be OK. And I figured if I did pass out, I'd at least have my weekly blog entry whenever I did finally regain my facilities.

And so, I ran. With a bandage on my head, I ran. I felt like Rocky, again. Not for any particular reason, mind you, I just always kinda feel like Rocky.

In other running news, I think I've just about talked myself into doing a half marathon at some point this year. And I figure if I put it on my blog, it will be more likely to happen, because everything I put on my blog happens. Well, except for that year-end post that I never quite got around to. And the decade retrospective...

I know some of you are probably saying, Bone are you crazy? Whatever would possess someone to run 13.1 miles voluntarily? Is it some deep-down, burning desire to push myself to the very limits of what I am physically and mentally capable of, and beyond? Child, please!

I'll tell you what it is.

When I got home from my 5K, I was feeling pretty good about myself and my time of 23:03. Then, the next day arrived... as days are wont to do. And one of my Facebook friends posted that she had run a half marathon.

A girl!!!

And so, I am going to do the half marathon for the same reason that many men have done things that didn't always make good sense down through the ages: pure, old-fashioned stubborn male pride.

And please pray for my sake that she never decides to run a full marathon.

For now, I'm off to find some baking soda, hydrogen peroxide, and meat tenderizer. Hopefully, one of these tips works. I guess if nothing else, I'll be all stocked up for the next science fair. Or home childbirth.

"I just need some time, some time to get away, from all these rumors. I can't take it no more. My best friend said there's one out now about me and the girl next door..."