Yesterday I proved, once again, that I am a world class asshole. Just after noon there was a conservative looking blonde woman sitting at a nice restaurant in Richmond (who had driven from Virginia Beach), checking her watch. Waiting for her son, who she never gets to see because they live on different coasts, to come walking through the door so she can give him his belated birthday present. She didn't know that he was just then stirring from his futon over 3 hours away. He stood up his own mother because he had watched George Clooney movies until late and forgot to set his alarm. He types this in self-disgust. George Clooney is a homo.

This was definitely a "Moment of Burning Suns," where you feel so embarrassed and ashamed that whenever you think about what you did, you wince and writhe in agony like you're staring at the sun with the naked eye. There is much fist clenching and God forsaking during the Moment of Burning Suns. If you like alcohol, you have probably had a Moment of Burning Suns on Sunday morning after checking your outgoing calls. I have about three a week.

Anyhow, I had managed to fuck this up bigtime. There's a pretty short list of women who have worse sons, including Mrs. Satan and Mrs. Hitler. One day the three of us will have an eternity to sit around wowing each other with stories of how much we disappointed our mothers. The only way to remedy the situation I could think of while driving involved a rolled down window, the fishing net sitting next to me, and the patch of wildflowers growing in the median because, hey, all girls like flowers, right? I would probably even end up getting a ride to Richmond by helicopter. I decided against the idea.

We ended up moving the meeting place to downtown Charlottesville to save me an hour of driving. When I arrived I blurted out that I get my punctuality from my father and she said, "No, you pulled another Mike." Turns out that, happily for me, this phrase is (in my family) synonymous with forgetfulness, lack of insight, and general dumbassery. Our time together was delightful; heavy on the free food, light on the religious interrogation. As we talked I pointed out how huge UVA's art program must be huge because there were homeless people everywhere. She pointed out a futon in a family room is only half a step up.

We laughed and threw change at them. Eventually, she had to go.  My grandmother was in Virginia Beach going nuts because she couldn't bend over to get two dimes on the ground, and she wasn't going anywhere until she got those two dimes.  Mom gave me Girlscout Cookies and didn't see the breathalyzer in my car when she dropped me off at it. It was one of the best belated birthdays ever.