the search for 'neo'...

the last resort

2006-05-03T09:19:00.000-07:00

she couldn’t resist the smile that stole across her face.

she turned away suddenly to keep me from noticing, but she couldn’t go very far.

her hands were twined amongst mine, and the wind kicked and pulled her hair across her face.

briefly obscuring that smile.

she looked back towards me, more composed, more serious.

but i loved the way she couldn’t keep her rosey cheeks from dancing at the corners.

barely beneath the surface was that spring loaded smile, and she was having the darndest time trying to push it back inside its box.

i pulled her in for another kiss, and the smile broke to the surface again.

it made my heart skip – a million little high fives resounding in one loud clap inside my head.

at that moment it crossed my mind that the key to making this ‘work’ would be to keep her smiling like that.

forever.

and then i realized that it was impossible.

****

for all my tough bluff – strong words and angry rhetoric, i am secretly the worst kind of closet romantic.

i am a believer.

i eat that shit up with a spoon, a knife, and a bulldozer.

and it doesn’t take much for someone to figure this out – im actually quite open about it.

ill admit this to the first person, the last person, and anyone in between - but i doubt that many people realize how far the rabbit hole really goes.

if alice tumbled down far enough, the rabbit hole would drop straight into my heart.

and that’s why i refuse to settle for anything but crescendo’s and a thousand violins and the 1812 overture and fireworks on the fourth of july.

i want a nuclear implosion – a soundless explosion that i hear not in my head but feel in the tips of my toes.

i want it all.

and i want it on the first.

first look.

first touch.

first kiss.

our first.

the first.

of many.

****

and she wasn’t any of these things.

but she was very cute.

cuter than i expected, and certainly cuter than i deserved.

she was four feet and eleven inches tall, and she stood four feet and eleven inches tall.

she wore flats on our first date, and i almost fell in love with her for it.

her hair was flippy, just like i liked it.

she looked nothing like her pictures – which was a relief because i couldn’t decide if i liked her in her pictures.

even now as i draw upon a mental image of her, i am met with a confusing montage of memories of our time together mixed with memories of her in pictures that ive seen. sometimes i think im making my memory of her into something else – someone that isn’t her at all.

someone that i like. someone that i would like more.

but other times i think i remember her as i saw her.

and i hope that this is true sense of what she looks like.

not necessarily who she is, but what she looks like.

****

we were seated.

we sat for an hour emptily staring at our menus.

we didn’t order.

we spoke instead.

i don’t remember the words that we uttered.

they just tumbled as new words have a tendency to do.

skipping like rocks across a still pond – not really making a dent in anything, but causing little ripples within our consciousness before eventually sinking to the bottom.

it’s a first date – nothing of substance is actually discussed.

and yet so much is weighed, so much information is gathered, and so much is decided immediately.

it’s a first date – nothing of substance is actually decided – except perhaps the future of a budding relationship.

and of course words have no basis of influence in the matter.

words are superfluous.

so we ordered dinner.

****

she played with her hair a lot.

flipping it one way. then another. then back again.

they say this is a good sign.

for me.

of course, what the fuck do they know.

****

they also say don’t talk about ex’s. don’t talk about marriage. don’t talk about engagement rings, and the future, and white picket fences, and what you want your kids names to be.

we talked about all of this.

thumbing our noses at what they say.

and what they say to do.

we say what we do, and we do what we say to do.

words are superfluous, but actions never are.

****

our first kiss was a throwback to middle school.

we were shy almost to the point of immaturity.

a gradual progression from walking, to casual touching, to holding hands, to clutching, to kissing; it was a freight train set in motion by the first words we uttered.

it was inevitable.

which is presumptuous to say, but actually presuming very little.

i think its natural for any date (even a bad one) to progress along the same lines as ours.

a kiss at the end of the date is not a flashing neon sign of guaranteed success.

but a partially concealed smile (dancing on the heels of a first kiss) may be the next best thing.

st. elsewhere

2006-04-26T17:16:00.000-07:00

for men, dating is a lot like (pardon my explicitness) a big dick swinging contest.

woman may not understand what this means, but most guys probably get the gist - dating is about showing someone how ‘big’ you really are.

of course dating is never as straight forward as the above mentioned contest; in fact showing a women how ‘big’ you really are can be accomplished in a myriad of ways, which is WHY dating is so complicated - no two woman can agree on the criteria, no two woman will admit what they secretly want.

but its hard to refute that dating fundamentally boils down to (in women’s terms) a man’s ability to ‘wow’ his date.

if we (as men) can figure out what ‘wows’ a woman, we are in like flynn.

if we cant… we are out like a trout. ha!

****

obviously every women is different – thus the criteria for success is always a moving target.

anything is up for review: a man’s height, weight, looks, car, money, job, ethnicity, religion, personality, girth, attitude, build, eyes, hair… the list can go on and on (im not a women, so even EYE don’t know what the heck is on that list… ha!).

some of these criteria are verifiable immediately (profile pic!!!), while others can only be unearthed over time.

some of these criteria are ‘nice-to-haves’ while others are absolute dealbreakers.

and SOME of these criteria are completely ethereal and are just a ‘feeling’.

and unfortunately those criteria are usually the most important.

****

everyone’s got their fair share of dealbreakers – some of them are completely logical (i wont date someone who’s been to jail), while some of the others are completely superfluous (i wont date someone who’s been to new orleans) and yet still valid.

for better or worse, i have a long list of deal breakers.

and match.com has only added fuel to this fire, by providing all the information that i need to make an ‘informed’ decision about someone (even tho im fairly certain that every girl in boston is lying).

but of course the swords slices bread both ways.

and as i peruse my ‘matches’ it often makes me wonder what OTHER people’s dealbreakers are.

what is it about me (my wink, my email, my profile, my photograph) that causes some people to think, ‘nope, not for me’.

don’t get me wrong, this isnt a sad thought.

im not hurt or frustrated by someone who isnt interested in me - because i can be just as picky, and just as judgmental the next person.

and ultimately isn’t that what we all want?

don’t we want someone who is just as picky and just as judgmental, but yet (for some reason) we still chose them and they still chose us?

****

im taking a ‘match’ out for dinner on saturday night.

our connection surprisingly progressed much along the lines of how match.com was designed to work: i looked at her profile a couple of times and then winked at her, she looked at my profile and winked back, i wrote her an email, she wrote me an email, i disappeared for a couple of weeks, then i replied to her email and gave her my number, she replied and gave me her number, finally i called her flinging flanging number and got a flinging flanging date out of it.

i like to claim that i don’t want to meet a girl in a bar because it will be an awkward explanation for our future kids. it would probably go something like this: ‘i was pounding beers when i saw your mom from across the crowded bar, and from the way she slammed those tequila shots, i just KNEW that she was the one. later that night as she projectile painted the ladies bathroom floor, i fell in love…’

its strange to think that THAT sounds more acceptable than talking about how we traded winks and scoped out each others profile via the interweb.

blah

****

but we’ve made it this far.

and that has to say something – we know alot more about each other than most people on first dates do.

we know what each other looks like*. we know how tall each of us is (a surprisingly important requirement for women searching for men). and we know what each person likes to do for ‘fun’.

im not super excited for this date, but i cant decide if that’s because match.com has sucked the intrique out of this, OR if its because im not vibing this girl. i hopes its the former, not the latter.

ive decided that profiles, winks, emails, and phone calls don’t count when getting to know someone.

so it still comes down to that very first meeting.

saturday is THE night - will i impress her with how 'big' i am? will she hit one of my dealbreakers?

no matter what happens, at the end of the night we will either know or we wont.

so be it.

* this reminds me of something that i commented to another blogger - 'appearance is the marijuana (i.e. gateway drug) of relationships. its the introduction, but never the addiction. its why we meet other people, but never the reason we continue talking. in the end, i want a relationship that is based on crack or speed, not pot. i want someone who likes my looks, but craves my personality. dont you?' - hooizz

'you can never really know another person, except by your first glance at him. because in that glance we know everything. even though we're not always wise enough to unravel the knowledge' -ayn rand

gnarls barkley

2006-04-26T10:14:00.000-07:00

its my own damn fault that i am a putz.

this weekend i missed the opportunity to meet some fabulous bloggers (jenny, sandra, sarah etc.) at tequilacon because i tried to do too much – and ended up doing too little.

i guess i get to blog in anonymity for yet another year.

****

check out gnarls barkley’s song ‘crazy’. i am stoked for their appearance @ lollapollala.

in my own words...

2006-03-23T15:11:00.000-08:00

writing about yourself is often an exercise in flatulence.

which is ironic since it feels AS unnatural to write about yourself, as it would to fart on a first date.

modesty and humility are characteristics that society has ingrained in all of us – much like the societal conditioning that forces you to clench your butt and cross your legs when you get the urge to fart in mixed company. ha!

fortunately our conditioning CAN be broken down (embrace your inner gaseousness), and eventually our true selves can be released…

released in the form of noxious vomit inducing fumes –or- equally bad match.com profiles.

***

writing a match.com profile is actually a lot harder than you would expect.

if you don’t believe me, you should think about your answers to the questions below.

(jess you get brownie points for completing this assignment early)

what do you do for fun?

what do you do for work?

what are your favorite ‘hot spots’?

what are your favorite things?

what did you read last?

what words do people use to describe you?

what do you want in someone else?

those are the topics, now write something that will make you appear to be a desirable ‘match’ AND do it in under two hundred characters.

go.

***
even tho it is SOMEWHAT difficult to write a profile, it is still just WRITING a profile – its not rocket science or saving the world.

and yet many people inevitably find themselves saying, ‘i don’t know how to describe myself… im not very good at writing these things… i don’t know what to say, but here goes…’

how the fuck did these people get into college? is this how they started their college admissions essay?

c’mon people, you have a thousand characters to describe yourself, and you just wasted twenty of them to admit that you are a moron.

i can already tell that we’re a perfect match. ha!

***

some people* avoid the issue altogether by writing practically nothing about themselves.

they are a one paragraph sink hole of bland sentiments – ‘im nice, im friendly, i like the color white, i like to eat chicken etc.’

they say nothing about who they are, or who they’re looking for.

humility (can be) is a respectable quality in a person. but boredom is not.

while i was looking into potential roommates last year, i asked someone what they like to do for fun.

her response, ‘i like to watch tv and eat buffalo chicken sandwiches for fun’.

are you serious? do people like you actually exist (duh a rhetorical question)?

the scary part is that she was seriously hot, and didn’t need match.com to meet people.

***

the irony of this whole post is that the match.com profile is completely superfluous.

why the hell did i waste so much time whining about it, when it’s totally a moot point.

nobody actually cares what someone says in their profile, because the truth (and the vibe) can be derived by a quick perusal of that persons profile pic.

profile pic hot. or profile pick not.

its a binary switch.

and if you don’t have a profile pic, you’re not even in the running.

ive been contacted by several ‘blind’ matches with absent profile pics.

call me superficial but i don’t talk to girls that i don’t ‘know’ (‘know’ in the ‘know what you look like’ sorta way)

this philosophy is akin to something that my friend matttius once said, ‘i don’t date girls who wear one piece swimsuits because it makes me wonder what they’re trying to hide’.

we were only fifteen.

mother russia

2006-03-21T17:27:00.000-08:00

i have a brand new toy

its not flashy

or shiney

or even really that fun to play with

but it IS time consuming

and strangely addictive.

so if i haven’t been blogging, its because all my free time is going to something else.

but dont be jealous of my new obsession with match.com, because lets face it, anyone who uses match.com is kinda sad.

which is how i should feel.

but i don’t.

you know why?

because match.com is effin hilarious.

***

my first ‘match’ was a russian mail order bride.

it was awesome.

she was tall, blond, gorgeous, and way out of my league.

so i winked.

and she winked back.

so i wrote her a quick anonymous email.

and she wrote me one back…

she told me all about herself, where she was from, what she liked to do, who she wanted to be with (typical match.com fare). she said she felt a connection with me, and directed me to contact her using her ‘real’ email.

uh huh… im not falling for that one.

the ‘real’ email wasn’t the tip off – the tipoff was the whole ‘im a poor HOT blond girl who lives in a kibbutz in the motherland and all i want is a man to keep me warm at night’ schtick.

im not even sure if there ARE kibbutz’s in mother russia.

those russian-mafia-mail-order-bride-green-card-needing scams are TRICKY sometimes. ha! but even tho i knew it was a trick, even tho it was SO obvious that this was an attempt to defraud me (probably a couple emails down the line), a small aspect of my psyche pulled on my groin and actually made me feel (hope? remorse? wishful thinking?) for poor poor super model natasha.

afterall, i COULD be wrong about her... couldnt i? hah!

despite my nagging doubts, i didnt write back.

but i did think about playing along with the ‘game’.

i think i could have convinced them to send me noodie pics of her.

probably, but then again probably not.

in the end it probably woulda cost me my mastercard or something.

which is why i just dropped it and LAUUUGHHED my ass off.

what a way to start my online internet dating experience.

***

match.com can warp your mind.

when i think of girls – when i see girls on the street – i don’t think of them as women.

don’t get me wrong, i don’t objectify them as just tits and ass, i just objectify them as ‘slender’ or ‘firm and toned’ or ‘a couple extra pounds’ etc.

these are the categories that match.com uses to 'describe' your body type.

and there are a lot of girls on match.com who think they’re in one category when they’re really in another.

i want to write them and say YOU ARE A LIAR!

but that would be mean.

so instead i LAAAAUUUUGGHHHH my ass off some more

***

i would love to say that im incredibly successful at this online dating gig.

but im not.

ive winked at a couple of girls – and when that didn’t work, i started writing detailed emails.

i didnt even use form emails (hi ______, my name is ______. i think we have alot in common. you like ____. i like it too) ha!.

and i still don’t get responses.

it’s a pretty big blow to your ego, when you realize that on paper (on the net), you SUCK as a potential boyfriend.

of course, im also batting WAY out of my league.

why flirt with ugly girls, when its all virtual reality?

***

i think every relationship should be based on three things - trust, friendship, and truth.

which is why its effin hilarious that EVERY single girl in boston (at least on match.com) absolutely loves the REDSOX, and DOESN’T fucking smoke.

every SINGLE one of them.

yeah fucking right.

because if you believe that, i know a really lonely blond girl in russia who would love an email from you. ha!

the wheels on the bus

2006-02-21T15:43:00.000-08:00

the world can be broken down into two types of people – those who wait for the bus, and those who don’t.

which may seem like an oversimplification of humanity (especially since most people don’t even RIDE the bus anymore), but let me explain.

lets say you need to go somewhere (i.e. downtown).

and you decide to take the bus.

you go to the appropriate bus stop, and you wait for the appropriate bus.

there is no schedule posted, but you ask some people at the bus stop about your bus, and you learn that there are several other people who are also waiting for the same exact bus.

an old lady kindly tells you that the bus will come eventually.

but she doesn’t know when.

several buses pass by in the meantime – but none take you close to where you want to go.

people get on. and people get off.

you wait.

and wait.

and finally you are faced with a dilemma – do you continue to wait for the bus or not?

if you wait for the bus, you may wait for a very (very) long time – but eventually you will get where you need to go.

if you don’t wait for the bus, you may find a faster way to get to your destination, you may find a slower way to get to your destination, or you may not get to your destination at all.

but at least you’re not standing still.

if you were put in this position, what would you do? which kind of person do you think you are?

and more importantly, what do you think this reflects about WHO you are?

what is interesting is that the answer (no matter what it may be) is not an indictment on anyone.

because there is no WRONG answer.

this decision - like many in life, is composed of no absolutes, only varying shades of grey slush.

in life, there are many people who refuse to wait for the bus.

these are the people who take action when faced with an obstacle, and an objective.

they’ll take a different bus.

or they’ll walk.

but no matter what they decide to do, they refuse to stand still.

and sometimes this will work for them.

and sometimes it wont.

because although these people have the determination to MOVE around an obstacle, they may lack the DIRECTION to translate this movement into forward progress.

movement does not necessarily equate to progress.

movement without direction is merely movement.

and is movement (for the sake of movement) really better than standing still?

some might think so.

others may not.

after all, there are just as many people who refuse to move (and decide to wait) as there are those who simply get up and go.

and just like in the tortoise and the hare, those who wait may get where they need to go sooner than those who hurry (perhaps in the wrong direction).

because you never know when the bus will actually show up. ***

***in case you were wondering why the hell im preoccupied with buses, you should realize that this whole post is an analogy for dating. i often equate my friday night meet-market escapades with this ‘public transportation’ scenario. is it better for me to stay at home and wait for my bus? or am i doing the right thing by going out and running in traffic?

of course this is all absolute bollocks, because there is ABSOLUTELY no guarantee that A) im waiting at the right bus stop B) a bus even exists for me to get on.

in other words i am fooked.

note: if i ever meet the ‘one’ – it will be our little secret that i used to refer to her as a bus. ha!

the only difference between martyrdom and suicide is press coverage

2006-02-14T22:40:00.000-08:00

valentines day is for eight year olds.

im not saying this because im single.

im not saying this because im bitter.

im not even saying this because im a guy.

im saying this because im right.

im right – and you know im right.

because if you think back to when you were eight, that was the FIRST, and the LAST time that valentines day actually meant something.

valentines meant eight year old butterflies flitting about in eight year old stomachs.

valentines meant eight year old hearts resonating in eight year old chests.

valentines meant eight year old eyes widening as eight year old fingers lifted up the top of that eight year old’s desk.

and amongst the papers and pens, maybe that eight year old found the valentine that they sought.

or maybe they didn’t.

but for that one afternoon (and perhaps only for that afternoon), valentines day actually meant something to someone.

even if it only meant something to an eight year old.

car pay muthafukkin dee em

2006-02-10T07:11:00.000-08:00

to me, bloggin’ is a lot like dating...

you shouldn’t do it unless you actually want to.

and ever since i moved to boston i havent had much of an inclination to do either.

which is a total effin lie, because if i had the opportunity to do 'it', i would.

which is another effin lie, because i believe that people (i.e you and me) make our own opportunities – so if i haven’t blogged, and if i haven’t dated, its because im a slackass bitch and i haven’t been ‘seizing the day enough’.

which is kinda sorta true.

for instance,

i haven’t seized every opportunity that’s presented itself.

i didn’t call a cute doctor girl who gave me her number on new years eve. even tho she was cute and i really dug her vibe.

i tried to call, but not very hard.

i also haven’t taken the moment to blog down everything that’s happened, and every thought that ive had over the last two months. even tho alot has happened, alot has been thought, and alot has been forgotten.

i tried to write, but not very hard.

which is really the crux of this issue – why do something, if you’re not going try to do it right?

why call a girl that lives in RI, when you know that its not going to work out?

why write a work in progress, when you know that you don’t have the time to finish it?

why?

****

you tell me.

i totally effed up on the girl from new years.

she looked how i wanted her to.

(tall. short jacket over a dressy tank top, w/ tight jeans and a pair of heals. great auburn hair. clear blue eyes)

she acted how i wanted her to.

(bubbly. engaging. animated. vivacious)

she was who i wanted her to be.

(med school. well spoken. intelligent)

so why didn’t i call her?

i don’t know.

****

my best friend and i crashed a house party for new years.

small – intimate gathering, but surprisingly a decent amount of cute single girls.

i noticed her immediately – it was hard not to.

but i played it cool.

i grabbed a beer and started a conversation with my friend, and another guy.

the three of us clustered, until she segued into the group.

first she started talking to the dood. apparently they knew each other.

then she introduced herself and spoke to my friend.

whats your name? what do you do? how do you know the host? etc etc.

her laser-like concentration was directed at my friend – so much so, that i actually made a mental note that she had absolutely no interest in me whatsoever (but maybe my friend had a chance).

not even a glance in my direction.

im standing RIGHT there.

and she walks away.

no prompt.

no break in the conversation

no one saying, ‘hey laurie, come over here and check this out!’

she just picked up and left us.

so we dispersed.

the end.

****

im standing by the cocktail table picking over the drink selection when she floats back into the room.

and i don’t even remember how things started, but suddenly we’re talking.

i have no idea what we’re saying.

the words tumble and jumble out of my mouth, but i have no idea what they MEAN.

but it seems to be working, she’s smiling and nodding.

she’s laughing– an uproarious knock your head back laugh.

and every so often, she reachs out and touches my arm to emphasize her point.

point about what?

i don’t know.

but at that point in time, i didn’t really care either.

its all good in the hood

****

we talked for more than an hour.

but eventually our conversation waned (as conversations will) and we drifted apart.

the new year rang in, and i sang auld lang syne alone.

i didn’t mind

i had tried to position myself next to her for new years, but that shit only works in movies.

shortly after midnight, i convinced my friend to leave early so that we could catch last call at a local bar.

on our way out the door, i took a detour into the kitchen to say goodbye to the girl.

she gave me one of those, ‘oh you’re leaving?’ kinda looks.

she said, ‘let me give you my number in case you want to talk more about italy’.

i said yeah that would be great, and punched it into my cell.

she said, ‘let me give you my email address too.’

and clip clopped around the party looking for something to write with– eventually settling for an eye liner pen.

****

i forgot her name.

****

which is no reflection on her, im just horrible with names.

and i did call once – hoping to get her voicemail and find out what her name was…

but i never called back a second time.

****

i have my doubts over whether or not i misread that evening.

was it deliberate when she blew me off the first time?

was she interested and playing hard to get?

did i blow it?

why did i blow it?

or is this situation, and this blog entry the perfect example of not doing something right?

i don’t know.

my russian mail order bride

2006-01-27T16:24:00.000-08:00

From: Natasha Selantiwa

Mailed-By: yahoo.com

Reply-To: Natasha Selantiwa

To: HOOIZZ

Date: Mar 2, 2006 8:56 AM

Subject: Hello my new friend!!

hello *****! It was very nice to receive a message from you!
it is my first time I try to correspondence with man in internet world.
I do hope you will be enough patient to understand my writting.
My friend helped me register and write on the dating site and
I hoped that I would be lucky to meet a good man! I want you to know that I have
only good intentions and I don`t have big secrets. The
thing is that I will work abroad for three months or so and I would like to meet a nice man to be my guide
or just be good friend to spend time with.I think that it is hard enough to live in foreign town without
friends and I have never been abroad.I am from so small town here in Russia,I am afraid to be
lost.and I want to see real life and it is impossible to see without
person who knows all sides of the life. It doesn`t matter what age is he or what is his eyes
colour, I just want to know that he is kind and open-hearted inside.
I don't want to live in Russia because I have not any chances here,it
is hardly possible to explain it by the first time but I want you to know my plans.
My best friend last year met a man from USA when she worked
there for three months . She had two jobs. From morning till 4 pm she worked in amusement park and after
it she worked as a waitress in the bar till midnight. She was very
tired of course but made very good money there.But much more important that
she met a man of her dreams and I think it is so nice.
My friend used a special program "Work and travel" for young people who want to work abroad.
I also decided to do so and to use it. This program just helps to register documents and gives suitable work
in several countries all over the worls: Usa, Canada, Europe, etc. I just need to choose.I already started to register
documets and now I need to decide in which city I want to work. I think it is the right way for me ,I am
lost here, and I think that I look pretty enough to find a better place .I want to repeat the same way,it is only
my chance to change my life. I am full of plans and different dreams.I have real blonde hair and green-brown
eyes,you know that sometimes my friends call me Barby.to be fair I don't like this name . I am not doll and
I have my own mind.I do hope that you will be not disappoined to meet me in the real life if we meet.
Well,I will close this letter and I do hope to get your reply.
I will leave my town in a few days or so (I can't tell you everything exactly right now) and I would like to
be sure that I have a man who waits for me there. I will work all day and I would like to find a man to spend all free
time together to get to know each other better.if you have any interest to meet me I will be more than happy to meet you too.
My be it sounds silly but I just don't want to be alone in the evenings,and I want to be sure
in advance that somebody waits for me!
I will tell you all details about me and my life if you will like my
pictures and want to meet me! I will send different pictures!
I don`t have a yahoo messenger, so pls answer me on this e-mail, it is my personal one, ok?
With best regards Natasha

to be jolly

2005-12-23T16:04:00.000-08:00

tis the season for evites.

big parties.

intimate gatherings.

office shindigs.

family affairs.

white elephants running amok.

and dem yankee's swap.

ugly sweater parties.

and a reason to regift.

tis the season of december.

a time for old friends, and new beginnings.

...

december is a month full of potential.

some people say that january is the beginning of the new year, but they are dead wrong.

december is the beginning of the new year.

a new year is marked with the philosophy of opportunity.

the opportunity for great potential.

a potential to achieve new goals and resolutions.

a potential to remake what was not made in the past.

a potential to talk the walk with a completely clean slate.

and although january may MARK the starting gun of opportunity in the space/time continuum...

i would argue that the catalyst and momentum in search of potential was gained much earlier.

like in the month of december.

...

amidst the flurry of evites, the happiness of being accepted, the warmth of being desired, and the joy of being requested, is the dirty secret that there arent enough hours in the day, enough minutes in the hour, or seconds on the dime to be everywhere and do everything.

amongst the plethora of invites/evites, one must make a decision about which soiree to accept, and which to decline.

inherent in the ebb and flow of acceptance, and denial, is the judgment process by which someone determines which course of action to take.

perhaps you accept because you're a close friend and your attendance is mandatory.

perhaps you accept because you've heard that they always throw a ragin kegga, and ratio of girls (or guys) will be three-to-one.

perhaps you accept simply because you dont have anything better going on that night.

everyone has their own system. everyone has their own reasons. everyone makes their own decisions.

the number one reason(s) most people would be inclined to attend a function would be because of the presence of gorgeous people, a cadre of like-minded friends who will also be attending, or perhaps because of a top-shelf open bar.

the number one reason most people would decline to attend a function would be because of a lack of potential.

a potential for... what?

a potential for fun?

a potential for drunkenness?

a potential to hang out with friends?

a potential to meet someone new?

ask yourself, what kind of potential are you looking for?

...

for me its quite simple.

the pleasure in the pudding is simply the potential to connect with someone new.

id like to think im in search of the 'one', but simply connecting with someone new is usually enough for me.

meeting new people is fun.

but connecting with someone - on an intellectual level, on a physical level, on a psychological level is what really gets my turkey baster cookin (ha!).

THATS what i seek out at parties.

and THATS what i want out of life.

i was notorious for seeking out the party that i knew the least about. the party thrown by someone outside my circle. the event that i barely knew a soul at. i was in search of opportunity – the opportunity to meet someone with potential.

searching for potential is not a comfortable feeling; which is fine because, had i wanted comfort, i would have gone to a movie, and grabbed dinner and a beer with a friend.

i would have done something where i already KNEW what the outcome would be.

searching for someone to connect with NEVER has a guaranteed outcome – the potential for failure exists just as much as the potential for success.

which is why going to a party, attending a function, crashing a wedding, and/or moving to a new city, is so much fun for me.

a fact never so boldly prominent as i begin to construct my new life in boston.

this city is a party, and every person has potential.

a potential for me to talk the walk with a completely clean slate.

happy holidays from beantown uSA

i am a giant coinstar machine

2005-11-11T16:05:00.000-08:00

i pick people up.

and toss people away.

like the penny jar at your local gas station.

the sign says.

give a penny.

take a penny.

and that’s what i do.

i am deceptive – so much that i can even fool myself.

i am an open book.

if i meet someone, i will tell them anything.

if i meet someone, i will talk to them about anything.

i will answer any questions.

i will expose any fault.

but people don’t ask the right questions, and they don’t get the right answers.

so even tho it seems like they know me – even tho it seems like we’re best friends (even if we just met) - they don’t know me.

they don’t know me at all.

part of the problem is that i am multi-faceted.

what i am is a yeti.

and a couple chance meetings.

a couple drinks at the bar.

wont tell you who i am.

to see me in one type of environment is to see one side of me.

and one side only.

don’t get me wrong – its still me.

but its only one side of me.

to realize this, and to know m-e, you have to know m-e for a very long time.

a myriad of situations.

a plethora of variants.

ive known my best friends for eight years.

which is small fry compared to some of you who have best friends from grade school.

but to me it’s a big deal.

a big effin deal.

they KNOW me.

they know that i bite off the edges of pierogies because ‘that’s just the extra calories’.

they know that i used to not eat after midnight because that’s when you put on the most weight.

they know that i enjoy watching cheesy girly movies – and secretly they do too.

they know that i am sometimes not a nice person.

my friends in chicago don’t know this shit.

and they don’t care either.

give a penny.

take a penny.

money for nothing

2005-11-09T16:06:00.000-08:00

i met a girl.

i met a girl, and she’s moving to boston.

i met a girl, and she’s moving to boston, and i am too.

i met a girl, and she’s moving to boston, and i am too, but not because of her.

i met a girl.

...

i did meet a girl.

and she is moving to boston.

and i am planning on moving there as well.

and i just told a lie, because it IS because of her.

but not in the way you think.

...

i play kickball on the weekends.

my team is composed of mostly doctors and lawyers.

she and i met because we play on the same kickball team.

and she happens to be a doctor.

when i tell other girls that she’s a doctor, the first thing they ask me is if im ‘interested’ in her.

and of course im interested in her - who isnt a little interested in a highly successful, extremely intelligent woman who can wallop the crap out of a big red rubber ball.

but i know nothing is going to happen between us, and im totally ok with that.

...

we met because we play on the same kickball team, but we got to know one another because we both love to play golf.

and i asked her if she wanted to get together to swing sometime.

she did, and we did.

and nothing came of it except for me finding out A) that she’s a doctor, and B) that she’s planning on moving to boston.

she mentioned how she was concerned because she had heard that it was tough to meet people in boston. she was concerned because she had spent seven years in chicago developing a good group of friends, and she was concerned that she would have a difficult time developing quality replacement relationships once she moved east.

so i promised to put her in touch with my two best friends.

because they both happen to live in boston.

along with about forty of my fraternity brothers and the fifty or so high school and college friends.

...

i have two friends from uni who live in chicago.

and i wasn’t friends with them in uni.

i have no friends from high school who live in chicago.

...

i asked her why she was moving to boston, if she had such a good group of friends in chicago.

she said that she had family in boston.

and ultimately that was the most important thing to keep in mind.

she also said that she had given chicago seven good years, and that she didn’t have a whole lot to show for it.

...

i took ‘a whole lot to show for it,’ to mean serious relationships (love interest, or otherwise) in chicago.

because thats what i would have meant if i had said that type of thing.

in fact, that IS what i said (and that IS what i meant) when i reached my five year anniversary a couple months ago.

...

i may know nothing bout nothing, but i also know that i have nothing to show for the nothing that i have.

...

so she’s moving to boston.

and i am too.

but im not moving because of her.

but of course im moving because of her.

im moving because i dont want to end up like her... in two more years.

...

i am the type of person who takes a great deal of time to evaluate every option, scenario, and alternative before i make a decision.

but once i make a decision, i do not vacillate.

i don’t change my mind very often.

if ever.

because once a decision has been made – despite the nagging doubts and traumatizing fears ping-ponging around my head – i stick to it.

mostly because i go with my gut.

but also because i refuse to buy into fear.

and i will go out of my way to be obstinate JUST to prove to myself that i am not scared... even at the cost of (perhaps) revising a mistaken opportunity.

this drives my (ex) girlfriends bonkers.

...

i am moving to boston.

~ congrats to jess and neal ~

whats your potential? ***

2005-10-27T16:08:00.000-07:00

to the girl that made out with me on thursday night – thanks for making the first move. (im shy).

to the girl that i spent two hours talking about literature with on friday night - you made me smile when you said, ‘i had a lot more fun than i expected tonight’, because i felt the exact same way.

to the irish lass who drank with me till five am on saturday night – i had fun talking with you, and im sorry i didn’t ask for your number. i didn’t ask for your number NOT because i didn’t want to see you again, but because i didn’t want to be cliché.

and sometimes i hate being cliché.

sometimes i hate being cliché more than i hate being alone.

…

it was a good weekend.

but it wasn’t a great weekend.

it was a weekend with plenty potential.

but it wasn’t a weekend with plenty of results.

…

i got the digi’s from the girl on thursday night.

she made a really big deal about giving me her number.

she made such a big deal that it made me wonder why she didn’t call me back when i called her.

i waited a day before i called.

maybe she was embarrassed about making out a little before i left the bar.

maybe she was embarrassed about being so forward.

maybe she was embarrassed and decided that it was better to NOT return my call and be re-embarrassed again.

so i called her a second time.

just to be sure.

…

i expected more people to show up for the event on friday night.

ALOT more people.

don’t get me wrong - more people doesn’t necessarily equate to more fun.

but more people does equates to a more opportunities.

and more opportunities equates to greater potential.

and greater potential is what its all about.

potential?

potential for what?

potential for whatever is really the answer.

the potential for greatness, and the potential for failure.

the potential for connecting with someone, and the potential for feeling alone amongst a crowd of strangers.

that is what 'friday' nights are all about.

...

***ill update this post in pieces. check back periodically for new thoughts in motion.

im all about it (a cheatin repost from Nov 1st)

2005-10-25T16:09:00.000-07:00

if there ever was an official day to pick up women (and vice versus), it would be halloween.

god said, 'let there be a day for provocative costumes, lots of alcohol consumption, and guilt free lust for someone that you won't be able to recognize again (unless they put back on their blond wig and a c school girl outfit)'. and he made it so.

and it was all that we imagined it would be. ha!

frankly, im usually all about halloween. not for the previously stated reasons, but of course for all of the previously stated reasons. halloween is just a FUN holiday. its fun to be something you're not. its fun to conceptualize and make a costume (no store bought costumes for this boyo!!!). and because it truly is fun to meet new people.

sadly i cant say that i met anyone special this weekend. there were plenty of girls, plenty of potential opportunities, plenty of signs (several times i SWEAR i could see little aircraft carrier men with those light up batons waving me in), but i just didnt want anything to happen.

sometimes its tough to 'know' about someone, when they've got fake blood caked all over their face. ha!

truth be told, this halloween was fun, but it was slightly dampened by my penchant for retrospection (thats right, its a word). it was the first major holiday that ive had since my breakup. it was the first major holiday that i didnt spend with my ex. it was the first major holiday that i had a comparison for - i knew who i was with last halloween, but who was i with this halloween?

but i shouldnt pretend to be such a gloomy gus. my halloween wasnt really rain clouds and lightening bolts.

because here is who i was with THIS halloween:

1) a newbie to chicago, who told me that she was grateful that i had gone out of my way to help make her transition to chi-ville a good one.

2) a friend who gets off (as much as i do) on making our own halloween costumes.

3) a fantastic group of under privileged school kids who are starting to look upto me as some weird pseudo father figure. (hopefully not in the 'luke, i am your father' kinda way) ha!

4) a diverse group of volunteers who are as fun as they are philanthropic.

5) two incredible women who honestly bring a giddy smile to my face everytime i hang out with them. its nothing sexual, its totally just who they are.

6) a friend who deserves to be dating the perfect guy, but who is happy to be stuck drinking pints with me instead.

if i hadnt broken up with my ex, then i wouldnt have met any of these people... i wouldnt have made any of these friends... i wouldnt be doing any of the things that i have done.

and that is what i am all about this halloween.

ass much as you want it to be...

2005-10-19T16:10:00.000-07:00

she has a GREAT ass.

wait.

stop for a second, and imagine saying that like al pacino in the movie ‘heat’.

ok now continue.

ive admired it from a distance for the past couple of weeks.

up stairs.

down stairs.

walking.

admire.

she wears simple monochromatic colors – grey pinstripe slacks. a black cardigan. a white blouse. close toed three inch heels. everything fits her perfectly

and i like it.

i like it a lot.

very classic.

very professional.

very banana republic.

and yet here i am staring right at her ass.

or dare i say, here her ass is staring right back at me.

…

ive made a new friend.

his name is alfred.

at first i found him annoying and a bit pushy.

now i simply wish he would just fuck off and leave.

unfortunately he doesn’t know when he’s outworn his welcome.

not that he was ever welcome in the first place.

...

she and i have never spoken to one another.

just the casual pass in the hallway.

traffic flowing opposite directions in a stairwell.

a meeting of the eyes, a crinkling of the minds, and a coy exchange of a smile.

…

she’s a professional.

i find that hot.

extremely hot.

women who are teachers, publicists, and sales reps are great, but i respect the hell out of a woman who is intelligent, outspoken, and can do what i do.

and do it well.

…

ive never dated a woman.

ive always dated girls.

the difference between women and girls isnt age.

nor is it maturity.

the difference isnt even whether or not they’re married and have started a family…

the difference is simply how a woman 'wears' a pair of pants.

i cant describe it.

pants are everything, and they are nothing.

they reveal whether a woman is comfortable with her body(or if she isnt ).

they tell you if she knows what makes her look good (and what doesnt).

they talk to if shes confident enough to flaunt it (or hide it).

they speak to her fashion sense (or lack thereof).

pants may do all of these things, and they may do none of these things.

but one look at a woman wearing a pair of jeans (or a good pant suite) and i just know – either she’s a woman. or she’s a girl.

which is not to judge - because i really really like girls.

…

she’s not incredibly hot, she’s just really really cute.

which, in a way, makes her even hotter in my eyes.

short. petite. brown hair. brown eyes.

occassionally my eyes may go blonde.

occassionally my mind may wander.

but if i had to describe the ‘type’ of girl that i find most attractive, i would probably paint her.

…

i have a huge zit.

it occupies the left side of my face, and part of uzbekistan.

i think the uzbekistani’s want alfred to leave as much as i do.

but alfred is one resilient mofo.

…

im pretty sure that i picked up alfred at the marathon.

when sweat evaporates, it leaves a residue of salt and gunk on your skin.

that’s why your nipples may start to bleed while you run long distances.

at the end of the race, i thought i was hardcore because i had a pound of salt plastered to my face.

at the end of the race i thought i was hardcore, when in fact i was merely a prepubescent teenager with a soon-to-be imaginary pimple named alfred.

go figure.

…

of all the conference tables to sit at, she chose the only one directly across from my cubefarm.

which is a little odd since she doesn’t even work on the same floor as i do.

not that im complaining.

god she’s cute.

i just want to roll her up and stuff her in my back pocket.

i would take her everywhere with me – just like in the BFG.

except it would be my pocket, instead of my ear.

you have to stop and wonder, when you catch yourself pondering the BFG, while staring at the cutest girl in the office.

you have to stop and wonder if you’re either insane, or just a really weird stalker. ha!

...

her back is to me, so its possible that she doesn’t know that im sitting right behind her.

my first thought is that this entirely plausible – i am merely one ant working amongst an entire ant colony.

my second thought (hope) is that this is completely implausible – she’s walked by my desk a million and one times… she’d have to be a total alicia (as in silverstone) to miss me.

sometimes my ego is just THAT big. ha!

i stand up to ponder, consider, and stare.

…

im twenty six years old.

twenty six year old men don’t have to worry about pimples.

twenty six year old boys do.

faaaaaccckkk.

…

having an irritated imaginary person (i.e. a pimple) glued to my face is distracting.

it makes me feel self conscious.

it makes me feel like everyone is staring and restraining peals of laughter.

it makes me want to cover up and hide.

‘oh my god its huge.’

something every guy wants to hear… but not w/ reference to his over active facial pores.

i don’t know how i would ever deal with a life altering deformity.

scalding water splashed on my face.

acid dripped across my cheeks.

a tragic vanilla sky car accident.

social ostracization - either real or self imposed

it makes me want cover up and hide.

…

her back is no longer to me.

she is sitting at the table in deep discussion.

a professional talking with another professional about professional things.

its an early night for me.

alfred and i need to go have a talk.

as i pass by she looks up, smiles and says

…

hello.

*** ill update this post in pieces. check back periodically for new thoughts in motion.

an ode to a girl ***

2005-10-17T16:11:00.000-07:00

i like how i heard you before i knew you

i like how you take someone’s shit and dish it right back at them

i like how you loudly declare that you are the hottest girl in the world

i like how this statement is partly bravado and partly the truth

i like how this statement is partly positive reinforcement for your own insecurities (deep down)

i like how everyone knows who you are, way before you know (if ever) who they are

i like how you jump, scream and shout because you need to be the center of attention

i like how this need is really a cover for you concern about not getting any attention at all

i like how you act tough, but are really so fragile, that an errant word could break you

i like how i want to just hold you when you get broken

i like how dangerous it feels to tread near that fine line

i like how you didn’t know my name (at first), but still accepted gifts from me

i like how you didn’t sweat the details

i like how you talk a big game

i like how you joke about everything

i like how your bravado goes in spurts - how you’re always so loud, but sometimes very quiet

i like how im the only one who notices that you’re really most fragile at that quiet moment - at least, until you’re loud again

i like how you would deny ever being fragile

i like how you flaunt your body even though its not perfect

i like how you can do a shimmy that might drive me wild

i like how you lay yourself out as you dive to dig a ball

i like how intense you are about winning the game

i like how you pretend you don’t care

i like how you wear big bug eyed sunglasses

i like how you asked people to pay you a dollar for touching your triathlon medal

i like how you pull together your fashion in ways that is so different every time i see you

i like how you flirt shameless with all the boys

i like how you gave up drinking and smoking all at once

i like how you decided to do a triathlon and a marathon all at once

i like the stories i hear about you

i like how im scared of the stories i hear about you

i like how its so easy to get the wrong impression about you

i like how you called me up for lunch

i like how you talk about all the guys who you know are interested in you

i like how you subtly told me that you weren’t interested in me

i like how everything about you can be an exaggeration

i like how you shoot me the perfect length email

i like how you respond back to me almost immediately

i like how ive evaluated you, but i constantly have to second guess my evaluation

i like how you don’t mind talking about your depression with me

i like how you don’t mind talking about your therapist with me

i like how you’re different from all of my other friends

i like how you don’t have a college degree

i like how you like going back to school

i like how you’re giddy about algebra

i like how you’re such a dork

i like how you’re smarter than most people who did finish school

i like how i think you are the type who could be a best friend for life

i like how i think you are also the type of friend who could self implode at any moment

i like how i think you’re the type of friend who would physically fight someone for hurting a friend of yours

i like how everything is an extreme for you

i like how we are an extreme

i like how we went from you not knowing my name, to us hanging out 4 days in one week

i like how hanging out is an all-day affair

i like how you completely disregard work to hang out

i like how your disregard for work has nothing to do with me

i like how intense you are about everything that you do

i like how you don’t blush when a bike geek suggest rubbing butter cream on your thighs and ass

i like how you would want him to just tell it to you straight

i like laying out on a beach blanket with you

i like making fun of the beach volleyball players with you

i like how you note that we’re both going to hell

i like how you’re not in a hurry to go home when you’re with me

i like how im not in a hurry to go home when im with you

i like how we inevitably hang out, go to dinner, and then go see a movie together

i like how you eat salsa

i like how competitive you are ‘ even when it comes to eating salsa

i like how you can eat an entire bag of movie popcorn

i like how you pour salt onto a napkin and proceed to pour salt from said napkin onto your popcorn until its done

i like how you scraped every last granule of salt from the napkin

i like how you were scared watching shaun of the dead

i like how you show up in the shortest skirt ‘ and have no qualms about showing off your ass

i like how this is an extension of your whole ‘center of attention, lest i be ignored’ thing

i like how you don’t drink alcohol

i like how you don’t drink alcohol until you suddenly do drink alcohol

i like how i think that maybe this decision to drink has something to do with me

i like how this sudden decision to drink probably has nothing to do with me

i like how she seated me right next to you for dinner’ when the rest of the entire table was open

i like how i don’t remember anything we talked about during dinner

i like how you were dancing in front of the band

i like how i danced in front of the band with you

i like how i just took your beer out of your hand and drank it

i like how you didn’t mind

i like how i wanted to go with you to the going away party

i like how i had no ulterior motive for going

i like how you admitted being very drunk and crushing on a particular boy

i like how i was mildly surprised to hear it

i like how i was disappointed, but not hurt

i like how my disappointment was more of an ego thing, than anything related to any feelings for you

i like how it wasn’t a big deal

i like how i could leave the party, and i didn’t have to take care of you

i like how you texted me in the morning about your boy crush

i like how you told me about how he crushed your heart

i like how he didn’t really break your heart, so much as make you feel like a fool

i like how you treated him for making you feel foolish

i like how you ignored me the next day - until i said your name

i like how as soon as i did, you immediately came over, laid on the sand and asked me to make your tummy feel better

i like how i tried to make you feel better

i like how i didn’t want to touch your stomach

i like how we’re both careful about giving off the wrong impression to each other

i like how you took your jeans on and off 10 times because you were cold

i like how you didn’t care about playing beach volleyball in your jeans

i like how you don’t care about showing off your badly bruised legs

i like how you dragged my ass through the sand and got sand down the front and back of my shorts

i like how i helped you do it

i like how you were distracted all day because the boy you liked was standing on the opposite side of the net

i like how you handled having the girl your boy was involved with, also hanging out

i like how you didn’t take the situation out on her

i like how you weren’t catty even when you had the perfect chance to be

i like how you waited till the very end of the day to have your talk

i like how you saved me a spot at dinner, right next to you

i like how you proudly declared that our salsa-off was the most fun you’ve had in a long time

i like how your boy was looking at me when you said this

i like how you’re using me to get back at him

i like how i could care less if you do

i like how you still volunteered to help him move, even though he had treated you badly

i like how you didn’t end up helping him

i like how you invited his girl to come with us to the beach, even though you didn’t want her around

i like how you are naive enough to not realize that this guy played you ‘ hard

i like how you’re comfortable talking about it with me

i like how you’re bitter and hate men

i like how you can still see the greater good in practically everyone

i like how you’re comfortable talking about all the guys you’ve slept with

i like how you’re not self-conscious about admitting how at one point you hadn’t had sex in a year

i like how you have had one-night stands, but still consider yourself a monogamist

i like that you’re a monagmist

i like how you talk about all the boys that like you

i like how you know exactly who and what you want to date

i like how you want to date a runner

i like how you’re willing to date someone who is not what you exactly want

i like how you’ve somehow asked/learned about my past history

i like how you’ve somehow done your homework on me

i like how you asked me questions about my ex girlfriend that you probably already knew the answers to

i like how i didn’t feel the need to find out how or why you had done your homework

i like how i felt comfortable telling you my story

i like how i cleaned my apartment for you

i like how you didn’t mind wearing a pair of my pants to dinner

i like how you laughed at my jokes

i like how you still wanted to hang out some more, and came back to my place to watch a movie

i like how you flinched at every single blow in fight club

i like how the entire couch shook, each time you flinched

i like how you figured the movie out way before the end

i like how i don’t know if we’ll continue to be friends tomorrow (or into the future), but i would like it if we were

***(a cheatin repost from sept 29) in memory of what could have been, and should have been, but never really had a chance to have been.

whoever smelt it, dealt it.

2005-09-28T16:12:00.000-07:00

ouch.

dfk just threw the big D at me

d as in don’t be desperate.

d as in don’t forget to wear deodorant.

d as in duh.

i say all of this with a lil tongue in cheek, afterall it was good advice for her to give.

because she’s right – nothing is a bigger turn off than the scent of desperation.

or at least, that’s what im told.

fortunately i don’t think that i am desperate.

nor do i think that i am carrier for this particular brand of stenchification.

unfortunately that’s usually how stinkiness works – you’re never cognizant of how smelly you are, until someone else calls you out on it.

apparently dfk has taken it upon herself to call me out.

so efff her… im out.

ha.

okay… okay. im totally joking.

i know im not desperate.

and although i find her logic flawed, i do appreciate dfk’s point of view.

because her comment highlights something else that ive been pondering as of late – something that has less to do with my actual sense of self, and more to do with other people’s perception of myself.

in a nutshell, my dilemma relates to relationships, and the game(s) that we play to maintain them.

most people claim to hate the game – in fact many people periodically ‘give-up’ on dating solely because they get sick of playing the game. and who can blame them… who the hell wants to play a game that is dictated by rules that are vague and obtuse at best.

nobody can quantify how many rules there are, nor can anyone agree on what the actual rules are.

they simply know that the rules exist.

and we don’t need to get into the specifics – my philosophy is that rules exist for a reason. its more important to understand the underlying context than it is to understand the letter of the law. because an understanding of the letter of the law will be useless without a deeper grasp of the motivation that exists behind it.

so lets bring this conversation back to the most critical component of any relationship – timing.

many of the informal rules surrounding relationships relate to timing.

how long do you wait to ask someone out?

when should you call them?

is it ok to fuck on the first date?

is it ok to say fuck on the first date?

timing is critical.

timing is key.

timing is everything.

timing is important, but its also part of the game.

and for some reason (as of late) ive given up on playing the game.

don’t get me wrong, im ‘playing’ the game… im just not playing by the rules of the game.

which means that i don’t wait three days to call someone back.

which means that i respond to emails if im excited to receive them.

which means that i try to spend as much time as possible (as soon as possible) with someone that i really like.

which means that i don’t play the game.

and some might say this refreshing.

while others might say that this reeks of desperation.

one way or another i don’t particularly give a shit.

but give a shit or not, ive begun to wonder what other peoples perception of my actions may be.

ive begun to wonder if its possible that ive spoiled potential opportunities by being too readily available...

ive begun to wonder if the perception of desperation is actually the same as being desperate...

ive begun to wonder if ive been secretly exuding the noxious whiff of big d...

are these the right questions to ask... or is this entire train of thought D as in dum? ha!

bear market blues

2005-09-26T16:13:00.000-07:00

my baby sister lives in new york city.

she graduated two years ago, and she’s working on wall street.

she’s twenty three years old – intelligent, outgoing, and (much to my dismay) very attractive.

despite her impressive qualities, and outstanding attributes, it came as no surprise to me that she called one day to ‘vent’ about how she cant meet any men.

actually, she called to tell me that she cant meet the ‘right’ kind of men.

the guys she works with are skeezy.

the guys she knows from school are dorks.

and she refuses to meet anyone in a bar.

(apparently the apple doesn’t fall too far from the family tree).

in all likelihood, my sister is over exaggerating.

im sure she meets men. in fact she probably meets a lot of men. in fact im sure she gets hit on by all kinds of men every single hour of every single day.

afterall its ennn why ceee – everyones got game, and no ones afraid to use it.

but my sister isnt interested in game, and the guys who hit on her are not the guys that she would date.

in other words she’s meeting guys, but she’s not meeting the ‘right’ guys.

or more accurately – she’s not putting herself in a situation where the ‘right’ guys get to meet her.

which is absolutely key, if you’re the slightest bit picky, and you refuse to buy into the meet market social scene.

because once you cross bars and clubs off, you’re only left with meeting people at work or at home.

(and lets not talk about supermarket hookups) ha!

so i gave her some simple advice – i told her to diversify.

she needs to DIVERSIFY the portfolio of her life.

join a book club.

volunteer with a charity.

play coed sports.

participate in a church group.

sometimes we need to be reminded that luckdestinygodfate can only take us so far… especially if you’re not willing to meet someone at work, and you’re not willing to meet someone in a bar.

these types of boundaries limit most people to the 'idea' of meeting someone between the walk from their office to their car, and from their car to their apartment.

luckdestinygodfate is good, but its not (necessarily) that good.

my sister is a tad lazy, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she heard my advice, but hasn’t heeded my advice.

people are lazy, and she is no exception.

sometimes i laugh at people’s naiveté – i believe in true love's concept of ‘fate’, but i don’t believe that this belief gives me carte blanche to sit in my apartment and wait for my fairy godmother to waver her wand and smack me into my other half.

which is EXACTLY what most people hope/expect to happen.

and i dont think luckdestinygodfate works like that.

which is why im a member of two book clubs.

and i volunteer with three charities.

and i play in two coed sports leagues.

and im training for a marathon.

and im looking for a good church group.

and i still havent found the ‘right’ woman.

and im getting a little worried about it.

but ive diversified my holdings…

and im hoping for a bull market.

booyah.

i said be aloof, not a doof.

2005-09-22T16:14:00.000-07:00

this should be my mantra.

instead it’s a cheesy line that ive stolen from a friends episode.

but the way i figure it, if you’re going to steal, at least steal from someone better than you.

which is kinda sad, because that means that some schmucko writer @ friends is better than me.

i bet his blog gets more hits than my blog does.

which isnt hard, considering i get about five hits a day.

two of which are weirdos looking for pictures, and one of which is dfk checking in to see if ive written anything new.

unfortunately more often than not, i haven’t. thats probably one of the reasons that i only get five hits a day.

the other reason is that my writing sucks. ha!

which is something ive decided to try and rectify with this stream of conscious bollocks.

put gas in the tank, pop the clutch and just motor for a couple of minutes.

my mind is frenetic, so hopefully you’ll be able to keep up.

let me know if you cant…

not that i can do anything about that.

those of you who have been consistently reading me for a while (dfk, rejjy jackson, jessies girl, positively, anchored, runjenrun, lm) probably know that i think too much.

this is partly my nature, and partly my situation.

since im on the road a lot, i rarely have anyone to bounce my razzle dazzle off of. instead these thoughts just ping pongs around in my noggin, waiting to explode (like the bullet that bob pops off in the beginning/final scene of fight club).

running certainly helps to keep these thoughts under control.

running helps me to think blank, and burn energy – both at the same time.

im starting to taper, which means im almost at the end of my training.

which is both exciting and scary.

i live for this shit.

but i don’t want to die for this shit.

i feel like a soldier in world war ii – im so close i can almost stick out my tongue and touch it.

soldiers in world war ii accumulated points based on the duration that they were in combat, the activities they performed, their rank, and medals and honors that they received. if a soldier accumulated enough points, they were able to leave europe/asia pac, and go home.

if they didn’t, they had to stay and continue to fight.

soldiers who were close (but not quite) to having enough points usually became tentative because they didn’t want to be injured or killed when they were so close to going home.

i don’t want to be injured or killed when i am so close to running the marathon.

training is basically over, and all i have to do is wait.

which basically translates to think a think.

which is bad news for me, because when i over thinky think, i get into trouble.

not that im not capable of doing that by myself (thinking or no drinking)

i am surely bored.

lately i find myself attracted to the oddest girls – not because its convenient, or because im genuinely attracted to them, but because im bored.

what the hell, i don’t think she’s pretty, but she’s sorta kinda and not terribly boring.

or what the hell, i could seriously mess up my life if i pursue this girl (a different one), but what the hell im bored.

and finally, im not even interested in her, but i like talking to her and making her think that im interested in her, but im not. not because shes boring, or because im bored, but because i just don’t find her attractive.

part of me wants to chastise myself for not finding her attractive.

she’s cute-ish.

who am i to judge her (im sure there’s somebody out there who thinks she’s a hottie).

i just don’t happen to be him.

one of my roommates and i like to point out all the flaws on the girls that we meet.

another of my roommates likes to say, ‘eh, im not perfect either’.

it’s a good point to make, but quite frankly, he’s the slobbier, underemployed roommate who is balding.

part of me wants to say that he should take what he can get.

maybe i should take my own advice.

ive decided to stream of conscious blog this entire week. stop back tomorrow and find out why people should proofread and spell check their blogs before they post.

stop back and find out why i shouldnt blog every day.

~ z always looks so stoic~

bro’s before ho’s

2005-09-07T16:15:00.000-07:00

gratuity is money paid for services rendered.

more often than not, this amount of money is directly proportional to the quality of the services rendered – better services often equates to more money, and vice versus.

in reality this is often, but not always the case.

for instance – its almost instinctual to tip a cab driver an extra buck (maybe even two). EVEN THO he’s done nothing more than what he’s supposed to do – driving a passenger from point (a) to point (b). considering that most cabbies usually round my fare up (i.e. ten dollars and five cents becomes an automatic eleven dollar charge), and they’re equally unlikely to help me with my luggage, it still amazes me when i catch myself tacking on an extra dollar to my cab fare.

i guess im just a sucka like that.

its true that i over-tip cabdrivers (a habit that im trying to rectify), but my real ‘sucker-spot’ is over-tipping waitresses and female bartenders.

which isnt unusual or particularly noteworthy – i just happen to be as dumb as the next guy.

theres a reason why successful bar staffs are usually comprised of tube top totin’ twenty three year old females who’s asses are barely poured in to a pair of low-cut paper, denim & clothe jeans – its because guys are dumb.

it’s an undisputed fact that guys like girls.

it’s also an undisputed fact that guys like drinking.

the only thing that we like better than girls and drinking, are girls that go drinking with us.

and if we cant find a couple of those, we most certainly will settle for a cute girl who will pour and/or bring us a drink.

i guess we’re all just a bunch of sucka’s like that.

one of the reason that cute waitresses and female bartenders are so successful is that we [i.e. most guys] STUPIDLY think that tipping (or over-tipping) will SOMEHOW get us noticed by the bar staff. as if showing our gratification, through gratuity, will facilitate and develop a rapport between the vivacious vixen behind the counter, and the sad-sack-of-schlub on the barstool.

maybe im not cute enough, but tipping has never landed me more than an empty wallet and a headache in the morning! (not that i really expected it to)

of course that’s never stopped me from trying. ha!

but who can blame me -waitresses can be VERY persuasive when they want to be.

a waitress or female bartender has several weapons in her arsenal - these ‘talents’ run the gamut from the ubiquitous push up bra and low cut shirt combo, to the sneaky peaky thong that ‘just-so-happens’ to be visible every time she leans over to serve a drink.

god bless’em. ha!

any hottie with a rockin’ body can utilize her assets to pick up bucks from a couple dumb trucks, BUT i genuinely appreciate a waitress who has a little finesse. a little flirtation pays a long way in a crowded bar – and im always impressed by a girl who can sling drinks AND keep the slobbering masses appeased with a little TLC.

any waitress worth her salt has perfected the classic drink touch – a light but consistent touch on the arm while engaging her customer with a smile, some witty banter… and of course more drink inquiries.

i admire the girl who can pull all of this together night-after-night.

its her job to make her customers (me included) believe that she actually cares. its her job to make me believe that all of her attention is directed at me. its her job to do this, when its more likely that she’s more interested in the ongoing drama surrounding of nick lache and jessica simpsons marriage than she is in anyone in her bar.

its her emm effin job – its nothing personal.

its just a game.

these thoughts ran through my head as i chatted up one of the coolest girls ive met in a while. she was a high school friend of one of my roommates, and it was practically impossible not to get lost in her baby blues. her eyes had a way of reflecting her mood (as only blue eyes can) – sparking as she became more animated, and sharpening as she/me/we got drunker and more serious.

cute as a firecracker, and smart as a whip, it wasn’t surprising that i was instinctively drawn to her.

she had an amazing way of engaging me in a conversation – making me the absolute epi-center of her attention. in between overly animated hand gestures, she had a way of touching, prodding or hugging away any awkwardness that existed. even more amazing was her ability to do this with everyone in the group (my roommate, and another of my roommates friends from high school).

she had all three of us wrapped around her slender little finger.

but perhaps the most amazing thing of all, was that she managed to do this without any of us getting pissed, jealous, or upset.

no hard feelings, no overt competition. we all thought (on some level) that we had a better chance with her than the other two did.

if she had been a waitress, she could have easily taken us for every dollar we had.

during an entire day of drinking and socializing, the balance of our triumvirate shifted many times over.

at times i thought i was in like flynn.

things she said, and things she did, led me to believe that she was as interested in me as i was interested in her. and so i was tempted to press forward and find out if my suspicions were true.

unfortunately my interest surged and waned as i grappled with reality – there was simply no way that ANYTHING could happen between the two of us (EVEN if she was interested).

because my roommate was quite the ‘smitten kitten’ himself.

and he DEFINITELY had first dibs – not only had he known her longer than i had, but he was from the same town as her (i.e. a better long term fit).

plus he’s my ROOMMATE, as much as i want to wish a year of misery upon myself, i really don’t want to screw over my roommate for a girl – even one as remarkable as she was.

so i bowed out as gracefully as humanly possible.

it was all just a game.

a mixed bag of deez nuts

2005-08-29T17:53:00.000-07:00

maggies is the kinda meet market bar that used to drive me nuts.

the music is loud. the trixies are cute. the meatheads are plentiful. and the scene is so effin vanilla.

in other words, it typifies all that is lincoln park – everything i love, and everything i hate.

including everything i love to hate.

BUT it is stumbling distance from my new home, which makes it a perfect launching point either before heading out, or for closing a night out.

in other words it’s a perfect place to be stupid.

which is why it shouldn’t surprise you (or me) that THIS is where i chose to break ALL of my dating conventions by asking for a cute waitress’s phone number.

and of course she had a ‘rule’ – i.e. not to give out her number to bar patrons – so the night ended with me shrugging my way home alone, and laughing at my own stupidity.

stupid maggies, i should have known better.

and the worst part, is that i DID know better.

i knew that she probably had a rule.

i also knew that i probably wasn’t cute enough for her to break her rule.

and even if she DID break her rule, i ultimately knew that id probably be stupid and always worry about how many drunken lecherous assholes she had previously broken her rule for.

so it’s a good thing that she didn’t give me her number, because i am an emm effin jerk, and i definitely deserved to walk home alone that night.

but having said that, it wasn’t a completely wasted experience – in fact i drew two major epiphanies from the evening…

(one) old-school hollywood romance can not survive in the year two thousand and five. grandiose gestures, and over-the-top sentiments are no longer the bread and butter of relationships. every girl wants to be swept off her feet, but many a girl wouldn’t know the difference between a broom and a toothbrush. in the unlikely event that a guy DID showed up with his game face on (and his broom in hand), most feminists would be inclined to wallop his ass for simply trying to subvert their domestic independence. ha!

i write this in jest, but there is a certain level of truth to this observation – dramatic attempts to win a girls heart are no longer acceptable. in fact, (in this day and age) they can sometimes be downright stalkerish and creepy.

maybe even illegal.

as i finished up my beer, and stepped out the door of maggies, my mind skipped through ALL of the different ways that i could convince ‘my’ waitress to give me her number – meet her after work, talk to her boss about giving her a five minute break, drag her outside of the bar, grab the microphone from the dj and propose to her in the middle of the shitty beer sludged dancefloor – each one of them a GREAT idea if i was living in ‘the notebook’ (and SO worth the humiliation for rachel mcadams), but a bad idea if im grounded in reality..

and an even worse idea if i don't look like ryan gosling. ha!

(two) the dating approach is so precarious. there are so many checks - and - balances - and - opportunities - and - failures - and - moments - of - luck - and - divine - intervention that it’s a wonder that ANYONE is dating.

meeting someone is tough. getting their number is tougher. calling them is even worse. having a good first date is horribly difficult. and yet we continue to smack our heads against the wall.

its pavlovs dogs all over again.

and the worst part (for me) is that im too easily hungup on the phone number step.

i meet PLENTY of girls.

that’s actually pretty easy for me.

unfortunately i have difficulty capitalizing on the meat-and-greet to get their number. most of the time i get too hung up on figuring out if im interested enough. the entire night, im like a big effin squirrel who keeps tilting his head from side-to-side while trying to figure out if the acorn he holds in his hand is big enough, and juicy enough, and soft enough, and tasty enough.

sometimes i need someone to shout, ‘just eat the acorn you fucking nutjob!’ (ha!)

because i FORGET that committing to eat the acorn is still a far cry from actually tuckin’ into some planters peanuts. there are still PLENTY of opportunities for things to go awry.

case in point – my dad promised to call my mom after he asked her to write her telephone number on a dollar bill... and then he spent it. ha!

in their case it worked out for the best (i.e. my mom hunted my dad down to kick his ass). unfortunately don’t think i can depend on being so fortunate. ha!

ULTIMATELY i need to get out there and and i need to get the digi’s – there will be plenty of opportunities for head tilting at a later time and on a later date.

i really am a fuckin nutjob. ha!

nuts! is compliments of threadless tshirts~

bill murray i am

2005-08-24T17:55:00.000-07:00

last weekend desperation was oozing out of my pores in the form of mr. wheat, mrs. barley, and mr. hops.

as ive gracefully aged over the years (to a vine-ripened twenty six), i have noted that my nightlong rock-outs have rapidly degraded to a nights where i am out like a rock.

i cant party like i used to, and quite frankly, im not sure that i really want to.

this common lament has been whispered by many an aging party-goer; a result of a sharply declining alkeyhall tolerance, a brutal five day work week, and a growing propensity to ‘hate’ drunks.

when did we become such haters?

it wasn’t that long ago that i was slamming beers nonstop, shaking my ass like a porn star, and picking on the dregs of the four am bars*. now i find myself, drinking fast (but getting ‘inebriated’ faster), catching up with friends that i haven’t seen all week (talking against the back wall of the dancefloor), and jumping in a cab as soon as its safe to say that ‘all the hot girls are boring, and blah’.

when did we become so quick to give up?

some like to say that weve become wiser (and less likely to put up with the bullshit) as we’ve aged.

i like to simply say that we’ve all become old farts - me included.

which is why my recent decision to live with four twenty three year-old roommates has been a welcome shock to my system.

a shock in the ‘everyone-has-to-shotgun-three-beers-before-going-out’ kinda welcome.

an announcement that i barely blinked at when my roommate made it (im already back to my old form. ha!)

as a disembodied observer, i am not surprised to note that there is direct correlation between the increasing level of my consumption (shotgunning beers, playing quarters, and a beer paaaarty or few) and my declining level of social cynicism.

LP bars that were once deemed cheesy have been revisited and enjoyed. and the trixie type girls who were once deemed stupid have been upgraded to silly and fun.

in a nutshell, hanging out with four less-than-cynical versions of myself has been tremendously liberating.

at least that’s how it felt as i rocked-out this past weekend.

unfortunately my twenty six year-old body was wide awake by eight am the next morning. and even tho i was up at eight, i was barely cognizant until three pm.

my twenty six year old weekends have now become as worthless as my twenty three year old roommates.

which is quite disconcerting, since, like my elder(ly) peers, i have developed quite an affinity for activities that are scheduled for early mornings.

my preference for tennis, volleyball, volunteering, bike rides, long runs, reading, and writing has been supplanted by mindless viewing of saturday morning cartoons, entourage reruns, and episodes of weeds (on-demand cable is another ‘perk’ garnered from living with my roommates).

i would love to get up and do what i used to do, but sadly my mind fog refuses to lift after only four hours of sleep – and yet my body is pre-programmed to wake up early, which ultimately leaves me in limbo till late afternoon.

which is why i found myself pounding out my sixteen mile training run on a hot and humid saturday afternoon, instead of a cool and crisp jog at dawn.

by mile five mister, missus, and mister were oozing out of my body like slimer visa-vis ghostbuster, and their squishy voices were mocking me every step of the way.

its no wonder that i bonked at six and barely completed a twelve mile out-and-back.

i didn’t finish my training run, and which means that ill have to pay for it this weekend. a payment that i dread since ive already got some pretty heavy party plans lined up for friday and saturday night.

i can probably keep this lifestyle up for a little while, but somethings gotta give eventually.

and hopefully its not going to result in an elderly women (i.e. diane keaton) gettin nekkid. ha!

my voice-over (a cheatin repost from may 7th)

2005-08-11T17:58:00.000-07:00

my life is a hollywood movie. it may not be a hollywood blockbuster (i dont look like will smith, and i dont shoot a big gun or drive a porche), but it does have constant drama, and a rockin' good soundtrack. but thats not REALLy why i think my life is a movie. what really makes me think that, is the booming voice-over that has taken over the narration of my life.

'FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...' (cue ominious churchbell)

thats what my voice-over has been saying lately. for example, sometimes ill think to myself... 'geez! why do i have to get up so early for work? what a pain in the ass... i dont want to go to work... i want to sleep... how many more mornings do i have to do this for?"

'FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...'

theres nothing like a godlike voice-over to really drive a point home.

i started off this blog talking about the future (and my obsession with it). and although ive meandered my way through a myriad of different 'life' topics, i have deliberately opted to avoid the majority of my relationship landmines. the 'one-wrong-choice-and-you-forfeit-life-as-you-know-it' kinda landmines. in otherwords, the 'FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...' kinda landmines.

lets start off with the facts.**

i am 25 years old.
i have been dating my girlfriend for 1.5 years.
i dont feel any rush to get married.

...except i do

its so cliche. and i hate to be cliche. but she wants to begin her life (potentially OUR life), and i want to live my life (MY life). we've talked about it several times (as people in longterm relationships will inevitably do) and we understand that our timelines are out of synch. but both of us are flexible and willing to come to some middleground, as long as thats what we both want.

is that what we want? is that what she wants? is that what i want?

this is NOT a new storyline. its sad to say, but if my life was a movie, the plot would be pretty formulaic. --- boy meets girl, boy dates girl, girl waits for marriage proposal, boy drinks beer, girl dumps boy, boy has an epiphany and realizes that he has lost the best thing to ever happen to him, boy breaks up girls wedding (ha!), boy and girl get married, the end.

we've only made it as far as the 'boy drinks beer' segment, but i can see the plot developing as we speak. (so stay tuned)

i wouldnt mind skipping all those superfluous steps and jumping straight to the marriage bit, but therein lies the problem at hand... therein lies the rub.

'FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...'

im willing to throw it all down on the table and jump into the ring, but only if im sure. and sure i am not. if this is for the rest of my life (which i want it to be), then this had better be damn near perfect. and perfect this is not. and once again therein lies the dilemna.

having the weight of 'FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...' residing on your shoulders adds dramatic emphasis to EVERYTHING in a relationship. small idiosyncratic flubbles that may mean nothing while you're dating, may mean a great deal if its FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE. suddenly every action, every choice, every personality trait needs to be scrutinized for their potential impact down the road.

if you're dating, and she has a tough time deciding between several different entrees at dinner, its no big deal. but if she cant make up her mind about dinner FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, then it may be a bit of a problem down the road. not a big problem necessarily (but a problem nonetheless).

the bigger problem comes when you begin to extrapolate this observation (can't choose dinner entree's) and try to apply it to the rest of your life together... if she cant choose her dinner entree, how can she make the choices that will define the rest of our lives together? how can she make big decisions and help take care of our children, if she cant even decide between chicken or beef?

'FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...'

i think you get the picture. as a result, ive begun to politely (and sometimes not so politely) push for changes. she accomodates what she thinks are reasonable requests, and disregards ones that she does not. i know what some of you may be thinking... 'how can he ask her to change? if he loves her, he would accept her as she is, for who she is...'

'love is not blind - it sees more not less, but because it see's more it is willing to see less' - anonymous

which is terrific in theory, but if put into practice, it means that either A) you accept her and don't want to change a thing B) you dump her and keep looking. looking for what? the one. the one that you love so much that you dont want to change (and lets not get started on THAT whole discussion again).

i have a different philosphy. i believe that there is a perfect person out there for me, however they are not going to be perfect when i meet them. rather they will show the promise of becoming perfect (which my girlfriend does). because to meet the perfect person RIGHT NOW, does not gaurantee perfection in the long run (and this is for the long run). because in order to maintain that perfection, both she and i will have to grow together, in the same way, in the same direction, with the same goals and aspirations. its not important if we are perfect right now, so long as we can grow towards being perfect in the future.

if you are already 'perfect' for one another, you have learned NOTHING. you have not gained any insight into how the person will grow, how they will adjust, how they will sacrifice... FOR YOU. i want someone who needs to be molded (just as i do), and i want to watch them match me, change for change.

'relationships do not fail because people are incompatible... relationships fail because people are inflexible' - anonymous*

because lets face it, i talk alot about the need for change (and how 'she' does things that scares the bejeezus out of me) but i know that i too have character flaws that need to be outgrown. in other words, im not her prince charming either (yet). i need to change. and im willing to do so. if she doesnt want ... me to be friends with other girls (another post, another time), i have to adjust to HER needs and desires.

we both have the same choices: change for him/her, or say fuck it and start anew. there's always a choice. unfortunately we may not like the choices we have. but decisions need to be made... GOOD decisions need to be made because otherwise this really will be 'FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE...'

* this is my all-time favorite relationship quote. i refer to it ALOT. my girlfriend dislikes it, because she thinks its not necessarily true. if she ever finds this blog, and reads this post, she's going to know this is me in a heartbeat. (who else would come up with this kinda crap)

marinate on it for a while, and let me know what you think.

** way out-dated since this is a cheat. sorry guys, life is busy.

b&t doesnt just mean bridge and tunnel (a cheatin repost from jan 21)

2005-08-02T18:01:00.000-07:00

when my friend tonic invited me to go out last saturday night, i had a sneaking suspicion that she was holding something back.

but she’s a bit of a mixer - shes always hanging out with the hottest most interesting people in chicago - and i always have fun partying with her, so i opted to forego my better judgement.

its been a while since the two of us had partied together, so i figured that a couple of drinks couldn’t hurt. afterall it’s a saturdayfuckin night - im twenty five, not forty five.

so despite my nagging suspicions, i agreed to meet up for a drink or few.

she chose the venue - cherry red.

warning sign number one.

her choice of venue was surprising - normally tonic has the hottest hookup on the heezy (ha!). cherry red is not hot, and it hasn’t been for quite a while. in fact i normally avoid the place because of the sheer cheesiness that emanates from its doors.

but i wanted to party with tonic, so i figured that’s where i was headed for the night. a soldiers gotta do, what a soldiers gotta do. so be it.

the club was already crowded by the time we rolled up - who the hell goes out in chicago at 9pm? apparently we do. ha!

the bass was thumping, and the drinks were flowing fast and furious. people were mostly standing around, but there were already a couple drunkards swaying to the beat - it wouldn’t be long before the dance floor was hopping. a thought that made me suddenly realize that i was awfully thirsty. so made a beeline for the back.

our party was in the ‘vip’ area. which is basically cheesy club code for the ‘back room where they normally keep the kegs’. to step through the ‘vip’ doors, i had to part with a jackson, but i did get handed a plastic mug in return.

i had to laugh out loud- i had forgotten how ‘classy’ tonic can be when she’s slumming it.

not that i was too good for a plastic mug. in fact, i grabbed the pre-offered cup, and quickly stepped right upto the bar for a drink.

one sip and a single slapped down on the bar later, i was already half-way through my captain and coke.

which was probably a good thing, because i turned from the bar just in time to catch my old friend bombay stepping through the 'vip' doors - had my cup been full i probably would have sprayed everyone in a five foot radius.

i ran over and greeted my old friend with a big fucking bear hug, all the while thinking, ‘aw the shit just got crazy tonight’.

cause when bombay, tonic and i party, we throw down HARD.

warning sign number two.

tonic and bombay were quick to grease our social circle in the back ‘vip’ area - they made the rounds introducing everyone to everyone. the music was too loud to talk, and too lame to dance to, so we stood around doing what we do best - drinking.

i was really disappointed, normally there’s at least ONE person that i can have a conversation with. normally there’s at least ONE person that has something interesting to say. then again, the music isn’t normally jacked up so loud that the bass knocks out the vowels in every word you say.

with no one to talk to, and nothing to say, i stood around and did what i do best - drink and watch people.

the back room was filling up pretty rapidly and other groups were crowding in and taking over corners of the room. coats and hats were quickly piled on chairs, and plastic cups were quickly being filled. it seemed like everyone was doing what we were doing - fake talking and scoping out the rest of the room.

maybe it was because i hadn’t gone out with bombay and tonic in a while, but i suddenly had an urge to talk to someone - anyone, i didn’t care. which is a stupid idea considering the sub woofers were kicking through convo’s like king kong at a scrabble convention. i didn’t even know why people were still trying to talk.

and yet, i had this urge to meet someone new.

which is REALLY weird, because i don’t meet women in bars.

but i thought, ‘eh!?!? what the fuck?. its saturday night. im young. im drunk. im bored.

i have nothing to lose.

so turned around, smiled, and said hello the girl to my left.

(smile) ‘hllro, my nmmm ssss hhhhsssss. whtzzzz yrsssss’?

im not sure if it was the bass, or the alcohol that made me sound like that, but im pretty sure that’s what i sounded like.

talking irregardless, i kept smiling at her and did the whole pantomime thing with the drink and the hand gestures that nobody can interpret (yet we all keep doing it anways).

i liked how her hair was parted, it swept across her forehead and her eyes, and she kept raking it aside with her hands while she bounced words off the side of my head.

me: (head tilted towards her) ‘whhhhhhht?’

her: (lips to my ear) ‘my nmmmmmm sssss srhhhrrrrrr’

me: (head tilt) ‘whhhhhhht?’

by now im starting to think it’s the music that’s getting to me. because suddenly i fast forward to me fast and furiously typing her number into my cell phone. i don’t even WANT to transcribe how that event went down. but i DID get her number. i called her right then and there so i KNEW i wasn’t getting another bogus chinese take out number. (ha!)

suddenly my mind skips another chapter and i find myself on the dance floor watching my friend grind on an indian guy that she just met. im miming the white man shuffle over his shoulder to get her to laugh (successful). he thinks she’s laughing at him until she manages to explain what i was doing behind him.

high fives all around, and its all good in the hood.

fast forward again and im suddenly giving the girl a hug and telling her that im leaving. im not sure if my vowels have returned, but she seems disappointed and wants me to stay.

one final fast forward and its four thirty in the morning. im in my apartment doing what im not supposed to be doing, and i have to get up in three hours to volunteer.

i throw my phone against the wall and fall asleep on my couch.

the next morning in a real GE ‘light bulb’ moment, i remember to check my outgoing text messages.

‘damn you bombay and tonic, damn you to hell!’ (angry fists a shakin’)

because suddenly it all comes rushing back to me.

first there was the moment that i decided that it would be a good idea to call the girl. then there was the moment when i decided that i was WAY too drunk to be talking to her. so i decided to be smart and text her instead. (because THATS a better option) ha! then i remember being so drunk i couldn?t see straight, so i had to text with only one errant eye open. and of course this process eventually culminates with me throwing my phone against the wall.

i wont torture you with the message, but needless to say it wasn’t pretty.

is anyone else channeling visions of mikey in ‘swingers’? (because i am) ha!

so let me reiterate, ‘damn you bombay and tonic, damn you to hell!’ (angry fists a shakin’)

im thoroughly embarrassed. but there’s nothing to do about it. i can only laugh. in fact i found myself laughing more than once that day (out loud) at the sheer stupidity that i am capable of.

but do you want to know the worst part? i really could have cared less about being such a jackass. i found it extremely funny (and embarrassing), but i wasn’t ashamed or dejected. in fact i kept smiling with chagrin. in fact (it sounds awful) but i could have cared less.

because i don’t (normally) pick up women in bars. ha!

this is the point where the story should end... but theres more.

after many laugh out loud moments, i finally laughed myself to a point where i could logically decide not to compound insult to injury by calling her again. i figured that i had already acted badly, so there was no reason to continue the pattern.

at least that’s what i thought until i meet up with some friends for football the next afternoon.

him: ‘so i heard you were hardcore making out with this girl last night on the dance floor at cherry red. in fact i heard you left with her.’

me: ‘who me? what the hell are you talking about?’

and i seriously didn’t have a CLUE what the man meant by that.

i didn’t make out with anyone on the dance floor at cherry red. did i ?

so i asked another friend who was there that night. and her response, ‘naw, that was me. i was making out with everyone i could get my hands on. dont worry about it’.

so i didnt. phew! i dodged that bullet.

at least that’s what i thought until i got home that night. because i flipped open my camera to find pictures of me with several girls random that i DON’T remember taking pictures with.

suddenly i was pinged with a cold sweat - if i dont remember these pics, its POSSIBLE that i dont remember what happened on cherry red's dance floor....

did i really make out with a girl on the dance floor? and which girl? the one i got a number for... or one of the girls in the pictures?

‘damn you bombay and tonic, damn you to hell!’ (angry fists a shakin’) ha!

to be continued...

where in the world is carmen sandiego?

2005-07-28T18:02:00.000-07:00

when i was a kid, i used to get heckled a lot.

it wasn’t because i was funny lookin, or because i spoke with a lisp, or even because my dad had a big ears, it happened because i couldn’t answer a simple question.

a simple but very common question.

in fact, dare i say the second most common question that a child will be asked while growing up: ‘boy, where’r you from?’

(the most common question asked is: ‘whats’ur name?’).

because i didn’t have a simple answer to what most people considered a simple question, i was constantly picked on.

‘dontchya know where yur frum?’

‘are you soo stoopid thatchya momma and daddy don’t wanna tell ya?’

‘nobody wants ya, so yur not from anywhere!’

the simpletons hassling me hadn’t been anywhere, and they hadn’t done anything. so they mistakenly thought that every simple question has a simple answer.

unfortunately my life has never been that simple.

*so let me try explain: i am a us citizen who was born overseas, and ive spent the majority of my life living outside of the united states.

in fact, by the time i was eighteen years old, i had already lived in five countries, and six different cities.

and by the time i was twenty two years old, the number of cities had grown by three, to a total of nine cities.

which doesn’t include the number of states that ive ‘resided in’ for work (a total of nine states).

nor does it count my stint working abroad (which brings the work total upto nine states, and two countries).

hell! i won’t even bother factoring in all of the places that ive merely visited (because there are simply too many to count).

i think you get the picture.

nothing is ever THAT simple.

and when you’ve traveled as much as i have, and you’ve moved as many times as i did, you can understand why i sometimes wax philosophical with these types of questions…

what do you mean when you say ‘from’?

where am i now?

where am i going next?

when am i leaving?

when will i get there?

who will i meet?

who am i going with?

who can i depend on?

ive asked myself these questions many a time.

and they’re all good questions to ask - but lately ive found myself concentrating more on the questions related to ‘who’ and less on any of the others.

throughout my childhood, i never knew who i would meet at any given time. but i always knew who i would be with - my family.

and whenever we moved (wherever we moved), i knew that i could ONLY depend myself and my family to be around. which is not to say that my friends were unreliable, rather its to say that most of my friends (and their families) were just like me – traveling vagabonds.

i never knew who would be pulled out of school because their dad had to manage his company’s far east manufacturing operations out of guangzhou. or i never knew if my best friend would be coming back after summer vacation, because MAYBE his father would be sent to hamburg to become the european president of esprit de corp.

shit like that was always happening to me.

which is oh-so-very-boo-effin-hoo. (ha!)

and i dont mean for this to be a sob story, rather i want to explain that from an early age i learned to be VERY self reliant. my family was a bedrock of support, but i always knew that when it came down to it, it was all on me.

ESP when it comes to moving from one place to the next…

which is an especially interesting statement to make, consider that im moving further into the bowels of lincoln park this weekend.

which is not a big move by any means, but its a move nonetheless.

and if you’ve ever had to do it, you know that moving ten blocks or ten states is practically the same thing. you still gotta box shit your up. you still gotta contact a gazillion people about your address change. and you still gotta physically move everything on and off of a moving truck.

and therein lies the rub.

because most of these activities i can (will do) on my own. BUT short of hiring movers (a bit silly for the seven pieces of big furniture that i have), i have to ask friends for help.

and i don’t ask friends for help. EVER.

but this time i have to ask. and its been a GREAT social barometer – because moving makes me think about who im close enough with to ask for help. it also makes me realize who is a good enough friend to offer. and when people actually show up to help me move, it will make me realize how many true friends i really have.

they say that choosing who is invited to your wedding is not (necessarily) about who you are friends with now, its about who you want to be friends with in the future.

and on a smaller scale, moving can provide similar insight into the same types of questions – and the results can be either a relief, or a letdown.

either way, ill soon know the answer to the question: ‘who can i depend on?

at least for a little while.

*im not trying to brag (hmph DFK!) ha!

~ if i could put her (or her writing) in my pocket, and carry her (it) around all day, i would ~
~ so you're sayin' theres a chance! ~

(all lollapollala pics are copyright the nytimes and (or) the AP)