Movin’ On Up

So all 12 of you that read the blog with any regularity may be wondering what gives with the prolonged absence.  A friend asked me if I was trapped under something heavy.  No no, just movin’ on up….to the west side.  I had lived for nearly two years in what several female guests over the years affectionately (and by that I mean not at all) as the “frat house” – which wasn’t all that inaccurate of a description.  There were 4 of us living in this place, which was essentially the first floor of a house with a big kitchen, jacuzzi, back courtyard area and the requisite 7 TVs in the living room – all you need for a bachelor pad.  The carpet harkened back to the days of disco in Vegas.  It was a lot of fun for the time I was there – rent was cheap, drinks were aplenty and sports were on constantly.  However, I recently recruited my buddy Justin to come join the ranks of Lucas Group, and given that he had always wanted to live on the west side (he lived in Burbank for 2-3 years) and I was beginning to tire of bringing people back to my place and hoping they liked me enough to overlook the makeup of the frat house, a move was in order.

We found a really nice place in Marina Del Rey that was only slightly (read: completely) out of our price range and promptly compounded the problem by deciding that we couldn’t have non-nice stuff in our exceedingly nice place.  As such, we had nothing at all in our places for nearly a week.  Justin left his bed behind and all I had was a full size mattress (which seems to me to be an extremely misleading title for a mattress that’s just not all that big) that we brought over the second day.  So after a night of sleeping on the floor – which, though covered in carpet, is HARD – we now had one mattress….in the living room….and two large men.  Justin and I are friends and as a result I wouldn’t want him to spend night after night on a rock hard floor while he was waiting to get paid so he could buy a bed.  However, I like to restrict my spooning duties to people who are smaller….with less chest hair….and less muscles….and less male genitalia.  So for the three nights after we brought my mattress over and prior to Justin’s bed arriving we slept side by side, on our backs with our arms crossed on our chests, as if we were in some absurd sequel to an Anne Rice novel (Interview with the Vampire 2: Lestat Moves to the Marina!).

To kill the time which would typically be devoted by men in a nice new apartment to watching sports or playing video games, we decided we needed to settle who was to have the master bedroom.  So we played poker, lots and lots of poker.  I ended up winning and pushed my boxes into the master, which for some reason is shaped liked an octagon that had collided with a rhombus.  We applied for credit cards, and stuck with our apartment theme by buying a beautiful couch and TV that were entirely out of our price range.  Throughout the process of making these purchase and attempting to get DirecTV and the other necessities (yes, DirecTV is a necessity) set up in our apartment we discovered three things:

1. EVERYTHING is negotiable – I had thought that haggling over the price of goods and services was reserved for Tijuana and bazaars in India; this is untrue.  We spent an hour and a half in Circuit City negotiating with a sales rep and a manager over what they could do for us in knocking the price down on the TV and entertainment system we planned on buying.  The ultimately ended up shooting themselves in the foot when they two convince the two of us (both lawyers) that we had not heard what we thought we heard, even though we had clarified the point 7 times.  So we walked out, drove to another Circuit City, told them what we wanted, told them what we thought we should pay and they hooked it up.

2.  Justin and I are lawyers, and practice Murphy’s Law – Was that corny? Yes it was.  Was that a stretch?  Absolutely.  Is it true?  Without a doubt.  Just about everything that could have gone wrong in the course of buying goods and services for the apartment managed to invoke some sort of fuckery or another.  The PS3 I own was damaged in the move but I have a warranty so I took it back to Best Buy.  They proceeded to tell me that they no longer made the 40GB version that I owned, but they had the 80GB which they told me cost $100 more.  I tried to explain to them that their warranty program seemed pretty worthless if I had to end up paying for a replacement since it was through no fault of my own that Sony decided to stop making 40GB PS3s.  This either fell on deaf or stupid ears, I’m still unclear as to which I was dealing with.

3. 94% of people who work in customer service are either stupid or genuinely don’t give a fuck – A good portion of the problems we ran into in the process of this whole move could have been easily avoided had the people involved taken some pride in what they do…or been smarter.  Being big sports fans, particularly big football fans, a big priority to Justin and I was getting DirecTV.  And because we had a gloriously beautious TV to which I think I might actually be emotionally attached at this point, we needed to have DirecTV HD.  We asked the leasing agent who showed us our apartment if we could get DirecTV HD in our apartment, she said yes.  Given that we saw DirecTV dishes all over the complex, and more importantly because she worked at the complex and would presumably have knowledge about such a subject, we believed her.  I may as well have asked the pair of shoes I was wearing.  Apparently, we could get DirecTV anywhere in the complex, but only those facing the southwest sky could get DirecTV HD.  We were not facing that direction.  We could not get DirecTV HD.  We were not happy.  This was compounded by the fact that a.) we had already signed our lease and b.) since we couldn’t get a dish, we had to pay an additional $30 a month to go through the non-HD version of DirecTV that was hard wired into the complex.  We pointed out that we were having to pay more money for lesser service.  To which they said, “Well the clarity on regular TV is pretty good, HD’s not THAT much better.”  Justin and I simultaneously had the urge to defecate on their faces.  Either you’re a moron and you genuinely don’t recognize that there is a difference between regular and HDTV, you have the eyesight of an 90 year old or you really don’t give a shit about helping those for whom you work.  All three are unacceptable in a customer service position, especially given today’s economy and the overwhelming need for jobs.

In the months that have followed our move in date, we’ve held firm in our belief that only nice things ought to be purchased to supplement the existing nice things in our apartment.  Sadly, the legal industry’s lack of jobs, and thus our lack of placements, has left us with a lack of finances to appropriately furnish our apartment.  As of today, we are still sans a kitchen table, chairs and a comprehensive lighting system.  But I’ll tell you what, once we get this place up and running it’s gonna be awesome….I’m just hoping that happens before our lease is up next July.

Come Sail Away

As mentioned in a previous entry, my drink of choice when it comes to alcohol is not just rum and diet with a lime, but Sailor Jerry’s rum and diet with a lime.  Sailor Jerry’s spiced navy rum is essentially Captain Morgan on steroids (92 proof as opposed to Captain’s feeble 70), except cheaper, and better tasting.  Some of my closer friends can attest to many a night enhanced and/or obliterated by the Sailor.  Given its delicious nature, this gem of the drinking world has a tendency to sneak up on its consumers and provide for some very entertaining evenings.  Lest you think I am merely a lightweight, a friend of mine Justin, who used to be the president of his fraternity at the University of Florida and used to jumpstart his night by splitting a fifth of Jim Beam with his brother described a recent night with the Sailor as one of the top ten drunkest nights of his life.

Last night, on my way home I called up my buddy Colm (pronounced like a column – the Irish feel little need to waste letters) and asked him what he was up to.  ”Nothing,” he replied.  Knowing full well that Colm is always up for a little drinking, I asked him the all important question, “have you ever had Sailor Jerry’s?”  He said that he hadn’t yet had the pleasure.  ”Come over,” I said, “bring your drinking pants and be prepared to make some bad decisions.”

8:45 – My roommate Jon, his girlfriend Jess and two of their friends arrive having already spent the better part of their evening at a bar drinking.  Apparently the effects on Jon and the boys are fairly minimal but Jess, either due to her smaller nature or because she was slamming drinks for 3 hours was considerably more intoxicated than everyone else in the house combined.

8:50 – Colm arrives.  Apparently he is taking this night of drinking seriously as he has arrived donning the classiest of attire.  As opposed to the standard white t-shirt, light jeans and white sneakers uniform that typically drapes his 130 pound frame (yes, I am literally twice his size), he has on a blue button up shirt and some black shoes to go with his jeans.  I ask him if he is coming directly from an interview and he replies with a cordial “fuck you.”

8:55 – After exchanging pleasantries we head into the kitchen to make our drinks where we find Jess (the boys went out back to “partake in the doujjjjjj” as she put it) who appears to be concentrating very hard on continuing to remain standing.  I grab the cups and ice and pour a good amount of the Sailor into each cup at which point Jess snags the Coke Zero and decides that she is the most fit to handle the rest of the drink-making.  I hold the first cup steady and Jess focuses, takes a deep breath and promptly pours Coke Zero on my hand that is holding the glass she was aiming for.  ”Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorry” as she cleans it up, “hey….HEY!….hey…lemme….hey….lemme try again.”  The second time around was much better and she managed to get it mostly in the glasses.

9:07 – Jon, Jess and their friends head out again and Colm and I move into the living room to drink and catch up as I haven’t seen him in a while.  Most of our conversation revolves around 1. the trials and tribulations of him working with a girl a couple nights a week when he delivers food who has a crush on him but that he recently found out is still 17 - It is decided that he can no longer work at the restaurant - and 2. the handful of people that are more beautiful than us.  The second issue comes up because of the fact that I was telling him about a friend of mine that I recently hung out with.  This guy is an actor, is just starting to have some real success with TV and movies and is considerably better looking than I am.  This is not to say that I am not a self-confident guy, but as Colm put it – “Look, I’m not gay, nor am I modest, but some guys are just prettier than me.”  It really is a complete mindfuck to hang out with this guy as BEAUTIFUL women will circle around him trying to catch his eye like vultures on a carcass.  He completely reverses the traditional role of guys chasing women.  Granted he is a flirt and loves the attention but it is a crazy thing to behold.

9:32 – Colm and I are both feeling the effects of the Sailor.

9:45 – The second large Sailor drink is made.

9:52 – I drop anchor in the bathroom as Colm calls us a cab.  Apparently we were supposed to meet up with his buddy Pine and some of his friends at a bar but they decided it best to meet at his friend Phil’s house to drink more before we go to a bar.  I remind Colm that we will not need any help with the intoxication process after this drink.  He makes a noise that sounds like agreement.

10:15 – We arrive at Phil’s place.  Phil is not there.  Pine is not there.  No one is there but us.  Awesome.

10:20 – The boys arrive and they crack open some beers right as I get a call from a girl that I work with and her friend.  They want to know where we are going, I decide Busby’s since I used to work there and it’s one of the few places I know that we actually might want to go that will let us in with 5 guys and 2 girls at 11:00 PM.

10:40 – We all pile into Phil’s car.  Phil, who had only had that one beer, drove, I sat shotgun since I was the size of the remaining passengers combined, and the 4 other guys sat in the backseat, the three of them essentially using Colm as one big seatbelt.

10:50 – We walk up to Busby’s right as the girls are arriving and I see that there’s a short line but one of the managers I used to work with is out front.  I say hi, he tells us to hang out on the side opposite the main line and he’ll get us right in.

Me: Don’t worry guys, I used to work here, we’ll get right in.

Phil: Um, why don’t we get in that line?  There’s no cover and it appears to be moving fast.

Me: Ha, sure you’re welcome to if you’d like but they know me here, it’s not an issue.

Phil: Ok, well me and Mark are gonna get in that line, see you inside.

10:55 – Phil and Mark enter Busby’s.

11:02 – The rest of us get in.  My pull is less than impressive.  I asked the manager later what happened and he explained to me that I was supposed to follow him in 2 minutes after I said hi to him but was apparently too drunk to take the hint.  Well played Sailor, well played.

11:11 – I make the rounds, saying hi to everyone I know that still works there, get everyone drinks and settle next to a booth adjacent to the dance floor.  The two girls occupying the booth make friends with the two girls in our party and so we all sit down.  These booth girls are fully aware of the impressive nature of their chesticulars and feel the need to share them with everyone else in attendance that night by wearing low-cut shirts.  This also helps to distract drunken men from the less than impressive rest of them.  Kudos young ladies, way to work the system.

11:25 – The music is good here for a change so the girls and I get up to dance while Colm resorts to something resembling a cross between a dog peeing on a tree and some copious dry humping, all while standing up.  I suppose music inspires different people in different ways.

11:47 – Drinks round two.  More dancing.  Asses are grabbed.  Flirtatious looks are exchanged.  Shots are contemplated but decided against and several minutes later I find myself in the booth again with my two girl friends and the Boob Patrol.

12:15 – The West LA Bar Industry Standard White People’s Rock Anthems set begins.  This seriously boggles me.  Every Thursday-Saturday these same bars (Q’s, Parlor, South, Busby’s, Circle Bar) play the same 80’s rock songs and every time the same people lose their fucking minds like they’ve never heard this song before, or like Van Halen was performing 17 feet away.  Staples of the WLABISWPRA setlist include: Pour Some Sugar On Me, Livin’ On A Prayer, Sweet Child of Mine, Shot Through the Heart and many more.  It is literally taken directly from the Time Life “Monster Rock Ballads” collection and these people flip the fuck out every time they hear it, which is at least 3-4 times a week.  I get excited about songs that are either 1. brand new and I really like at the time or 2. old favorites that I haven’t heard in a while.  Someone explain this phenomenon to me please.

12:38 – The music returns to normal and I dance with Agent Mammary of the Boob Patrol, the one out of the two that I would remotely consider hooking up with.  However, she promptly disses me to get another drink and then doesn’t even get a drink and instead dances with other girls.  There went her shot.

12:49 – My girl informs me that Agent Mammary likes me.  I let her know that she dissed me and therefore sucks.  She reminds me that girls like the chase.  I kindly point out that, given her size, a two-toed sloth could catch Agent Mammary in a short period of time and that chasing is clearly not her strong suit.  The Sailor has a tendency to bring out the best in me.

12:55 – I witness both the girls from the Boob Patrol kiss each other and then look flirtatiously in my direction.

12:57 – I decide that I have been entirely too hard on Agent Mammary and conclude that she probably has an excellent personality worth getting to know.  Mine is a kind and gentle soul.

1:05 – I engage in a series of dance routines with one of the girls we came with and she is repeatedly impressed at my ability to move in line with the rhythm of the song without every resorting to the goofy white guy overbite or the staple jerky motion/flailing of the arms move.

1:15 – Last call.  All of Colm’s friends have disappeared, the girls we came with leave and I am left to find the members of the Boob Patrol to see if they would like to all get together and hold hands at a later date.  I go to say goodbye to them and Agent Mammary’s friend tells me, with Agent Mammary literally leaning over her shoulder,

“My friend likes you, do you like her?”

Me: “Um…can she not hear us?

Friend: “No, she can, but she’s shy…so what do you say?”

Me: “Um, sure….she’s got great….personalities”

Friend: “Cool, so what do you want to do about it?”

Me: “Well the night is young, let’s all go hang out somewhere.”

Friend: “Haha, no I’m not coming.”

Me: “Oh, ok….” *turning to Agent Mammary* “well why don’t you give me your number and I’ll call you later and we can meet up?”

Agent Mammary: “I have ‘friends’ here so I can’t exactly be seen giving my number out…”

Me: “Wow, ok how bout you write it down, give to her and I’ll go stand 7 feet away and she can give it to me and I’ll put it in my phone.”

AM: “Perfect!”

Me: “Wooooow.”

1:22 – The phone number is delivered to me and I go to say goodbye to both of them and ask if I can give her a call later and see her that night.  She makes it clear that her interest in me is wanting me to take her out on dates next weekend.

1:25 – I am less than impressed with Agent Mammary’s personality and am now over her.

1:30 – I find Colm drunk as all to be good and goddamned in the booth talking to some girl he apparently has known since they went to Jesus Camp in 6th grade.  They are in no rush to go anywhere and I am annoyed by this until I discover that his friend (Brenda) has a very attractive and seemingly very cool friend.  I am now in no rush.

1:38 – We empty out of the bar and 17 guys are lined up to try to get Brenda’s friend to come to their after party or go home with them.  Every time we dispatch with one of these hooligans another one appears and then the first one comes back for more.

1:50 – We finally pile in a cab and head to my house and the whole ride Colm keeps repeating “Bren……Bren….I love you…..I’ve known you since the 6th grade….since Jesus Camp!…..Bren…..Bren…..I love you….” all the while nuzzling up to this woman twice his size.

2:02 – We get to my place and the girls decide we need to play a drinking game with the remaining Sailor Jerry’s.

2:10 – We start a game of Pyramid of Death (sounds much more ominous than it actually is but it involves a pyramid of cards and I couldn’t think of what else to name it).

2:12 – Colm passes out on the floor to my immediate left.

2:14 – Brenda’s friend curls up in a ball on the couch, decides she can’t drink any more and accidentally releases the first cute fart in the history of gastrointestinal discomfort.

2:20 – I become committed to the idea of getting food and starting pounding water so that I will be able to drive us to Taco Bell.

2:30 – The girls call a cab and head home.  Brenda’s friend gives me a hug, tells me I’m funny and she likes my smell.  I like her everything.

2:35 – Colm pukes in my front yard

2:40 – Half a gallon of water and a cold breeze later and Colm and I are off to Taco Bell where we order half the menu.  On the way back Colm sticks his entire upper body out the window and starts yelling, prompting all the dogs in earshot to start barking.

2:45 – Colm pukes in my front yard some more.

3:00 – Well fed and tired, I head to bed.  Colm doesn’t touch any of the food he ordered.

8:00 – Taco Bell begins its assault on my internal organs.  I awake to the sound of my ass trumpeting and my chest hurting.  To call it heartburn would be a severe understatement, this was more like heart inferno – my chest was ablaze with pain.  Colm is gone and I am exhausted so I head back to bed until the early afternoon.  Until next time Jerry….until next time.

My Halloween Costume for the next 10 years

Someone, and by that I mean one of the girls in the picture, sent me a pic today from Halloween 2007.  I couldn’t love my costume any more or be more proud of it, so I thought I’d share.

Oh, and just so you get the full picture, here’s the back of the costume:

I couldn’t figure out how to rotate the picture but hopefully those of you with a functioning frontal lobe and a sense of humor can figure out that I was indeed breast cancer awareness for Halloween, and will continue to be for the next 10 years.  On a scale of zero to awesome I give myself a 12.

Racism is Alive and Well in the South Bay

Though my actual birthday was Tuesday the 8th, and though I did do a bit of celebrating that night as well (I do not want to smell tequila until at least late August) the real night of partying was last night.  In an effort to go some place other than the regular bars I frequent in West LA, I considered going out in the South Bay (Manhattan/Hermosa Beach).  I hadn’t come up with a solid plan until Thursday when a friend of mine from college informed me that it was her birthday on Friday and that she was planning on going out in Manhattan Beach.  ”Hurrah, let’s party together” I said, and that was indeed the plan.  She told me she had already made plans for her and her friends to go to this place called 12th and Highland which, creatively enough, rests on the corner of 12th and Highland in Manhattan.  So I sent out a mass text to inform my friends where we would be and that they should come and if they did not I would throw things in their general direction.

Yesterday, I slept in, lounged around for a bit, made my traditional trip to Fatburger before a big night of drinking and picked up some Sailor Jerry’s – the most delicious and strong alcohol I drink with any regularity.  I told the boys to meet at my place around 6:30 to play some dominoes, drink and hang out before we headed down to Manhattan.  I spoke to Larry and Kieran at 6:15 and Larry refused to communicate in any way other than to sing “we on our way, we on our way, we on our way” over and over.  7:00 rolled around and still no signs of anyone.  7:10 I texted Larry to ask if he was making his trek from Tibet or some other Southeast Asian country, as opposed to his house down the street.  7:15 I got in the shower to get ready.  7:16 Larry and Kieran arrived.

We drank half the handle of Sailor, all felt comfortably numb (with the exception of Kieran, who drove) and piled into the car to head to the bar around 9:00.  We managed to find parking all of 100 feet from the bar (an anomaly in any part of LA if you don’t count valet – even the fucking FedEx Kinko’s in West LA has valet parking) and walked up to the bar feeling good.  We were buzzed, we were in good spirits, we had friends on the way, the other half of our joint birthday extravaganza was supposed to bring several women as well, the evening looked prosperous.  However, we overlooked the fact that 1. we were in Manhattan Beach, CA, Population: Whitey McWhite and 2. our party of 5 was 80% black.

I walked up to the doorman first as I was a good 20 feet ahead of my friends who were busy checking out some new Aston Martin parked nearby.  I was met with a brief glance, a smile, a “come right in, sir” and I moved past the ropes and waited on the other side, informing PerfectlyNiceDoorGuy that my friends were walking up right now.  As soon as they turned the corner, the rope that he was holding open for me to walk through was re-latched to its post, closing off the entrance to new customers.  He froze.  My friends – 4 well dressed black gentlemen in their mid-20s – approached the rope and waited to be let in.  It was at this juncture that PerfectlyNiceDoorGuy turned into RagingAssholeRacistDoucheBag and spent 2-3 minutes stammering over his words and searching my friends over for a valid reason to deny them entry.  We allowed him this fun exercise in racism before I interrupted with:

Me: “What’s the problem?  This place is still empty, we have a joint birthday party here tonight and these are my friends.  What’s the holdup?”  He started to try to come up with some way that we weren’t supposed to be there.

RARDB: “Well do you have bottle service?  Do you have a table reserved?”  At this point he clicked the screen on his iPhone back and forth without opening any applications or looking at anything and then said, “Nope, you guys definitely don’t have a reservation here.”

Me: “Does that mean we can’t come in and party here?  Does everyone that comes in need to have a reservation?”

RARDB: “Well no, but…but…we he clearly doesn’t meet dress code, he needs to pull up his pants and tuck his shirt in.”  He was gesturing towards my friend Yohance, who was dressed in a neatly ironed blue button up shirt and slacks, that hung a little low.  ”We don’t allow baggy clothing in here.”

Me: “Woooow”

Yohance obliged and pulled his pants up, tucked his shirt in and RARDB realized he had no more non-blatantly racist objections to make, so he said, “ok, let me see your IDs.”  Though he did not check mine, he scoured over every detail of my four friends’.  I was extremely tempted to walk off and had we not planned a joint birthday party here and had I not told all my friends to meet us here, we would have.  We walked in to find the place damn near empty, save for 5-6 couples finishing up dinner.  We wandered towards the back and took a seat in the booth that was not near anyone except two 50+ lovebirds who barely took notice to our presence.

Larry decided to order a round of shots and drinks to take the edge off.  As soon as the Patron was coursing through our veins and we were back to laughing and having a good time, RARDB pulled me aside again.

RARDB: “You can’t stand up over here, all of you need to sit down in the booth.”  It appeared that the fact that Kieran and I were standing while Clarence, Larry and Yohance crowded in the booth was unacceptable because it would disrupt the other customers finishing up dinner.

Me: “What are you talking about?  We can’t all fit in there.”

RARDB: “And tell your friend to sit up and take his feet off the furniture…”  This time he was gesturing toward Larry who was slumped a little in his seat, with his leg lying on the booth, though his feet were not touching anything other than air or the floor.

I went back over and told Kieran to pull up a chair and sit down so we didn’t make the white folk nervous, set my drink down and went in search of the manager.  I found a waiter and asked him where I could find someone in charge, explaining that the doorman had been nothing but a racist dick to me and my friends since the moment we walked up.  He apologized profusely and told me he would try to locate the manager for me.  Several minutes later the manager came up to me, and I pulled him to the side and basically told him what I had told the waiter – that the doorman had been an insufferable ass from the moment of our arrival and that he had treated my friends differently than me and everyone else in the establishment because they were black.  Instead of taking the “the customer is always right, let me make this better for you approach” that the waiter employed, he defended his doorman’s actions.

Manager: “It’s our policy to hold the door any time a large group of guys comes up at any point of the evening, I can assure you race and ethnicity had nothing to do with it.  And he was right to inform you that you couldn’t be loud and disruptive to our dinner guests…later on you can do whatever you want, stand on the booths for all I care, but it’s tough to make the transition from a dining establishment to a club and we have to handle it very delicately.  And the doorman you referred to is the owner.”

Just.  Fucking.  Awesome.

A couple friends showed up and had a drink with us, which we weren’t even able to finish before we were hurried off our table because someone had reserved that table for bottle service – even though the dinner couple (who was about to leave) was not asked to give up their table and there were two other unoccupied booths right next to us.  At this point I really wanted to leave because I knew we were not going to be able to enjoy ourselves in a place that has fond memories of Jim Crow.  As we got up, Yohance went in search of the Coloreds Only restroom.

It was at this point that I got the first in a string of highly upsetting text messages, especially given what we’d had to deal with up to that point, from the joint-birthday haver/party organizer.  ”Hey, are you guys there yet?…We’re still at my house doing karoake”  Lovely.  I informed her that she should head over now as it was 10:15 and a line was starting to form.  10:45 rolled around and I got the next winner.  ”What are you guys doing?  You should come do karoake….I want to come there but I don’t know if I can motivate everyone.”  Awesome.  11:30 – “Yeah we’re not coming but you guys should definitely come here.”  I hate everyone.

At this point another friend of mine showed up and asked if I could get her and her friends in (2 guys, 2 girls) so I tried to see if a friend of mine who lives in the South Bay could help them out.  I thought she did, but as soon as my friend got in she said “Well, that cost me $80, hope it was worth it, happy birthday.”  I saw her one other time that night for all of 7 seconds and then she disappeared without saying goodbye and simply texted me later saying she would have rather given me the $80.  The two girls who showed up initially to have a drink with us disappeared without saying goodbye and texted me this morning to say that one of them had mixed Benadryl and alcohol and her stomach was unhappy with her and her friend had to go with her.  Larry and Yohance disappeared without saying goodbye and walked to the birthday girl’s house that was about a mile away.  Around 12:30 I was completely over the night and ready to go home so I gathered Kieran and Clarence up and we headed out to pick up Yohance and Larry.

We arrived at the birthday girl’s place in time to hear a horrific rendition of Whip It and Yohance and Larry felt compelled to perform Jump by Kriss Kross before we left.  We ended the evening by devouring some delicious Johnnie’s Pastrami and debating if accepting gifts from someone you’re dating makes you a prostitute – a conversation that lasted about 45 minutes, which was roughly 43 minutes too long.  According to Clarence and Larry, I am a prostitute, while Kieran and Yohance ardently defended my whore-ish honor.  Well, prostitute or no, at least I’m not a bigoted club owner praying for the return of Plessy v. Ferguson….what an asshole.

Birthdays

Happy birthday America.  As tempting as it was to go out and celebrate your birth by blowing shit up or handing out smallpox-infested blankets to Native Americans, I decided to stay in and rest up for the celebration of my own birth.  However, it wasn’t until now that I realized that America was a Cancer (and no, not in the spread out and destroy everything cancerous way, though there could be an argument for that and it would probably be written in Arabic) and truthfully, it makes a lot of sense.

Cancers are traditionally very guarded, they put up walls to protect themselves and project this hard exterior in order to protect the soft underbelly.  If that’s not America I don’t know what is.  We are the world’s bully, calling out terrorist organizations, not backing down from threats of nuclear war, we are very much the tough guy on the outside.  Hell, we even have right-wing lunatics like Lou Dobbs lobbying for actual walls to be built on the Mexican border.  However, though we put up this tough exterior, we do have a lot of social programs to help those that can’t help themselves.  Granted they could be a lot better, but America is a young nation that is still marginally retarded and is still learning.

Cancers are also very sensitive.  To me, this trait begins and ends with our political process in America and is exacerbated by the intensity of the 24 hour media coverage of everything.  For example, when Michelle Obama (SOUUUUUUUUUTHSIDE!) said that for the first time in her adult life she was proud of her country, how did a good portion of America respond?  ”Oh my god, does this mean you didn’t like us before?  What’s wrong with us?  Why only now?  What an awful thing to say!  Well fuck you then, you hater.”  Aaaand the walls go right back up.  Sometimes Cancers’ emotions can cloud the truth and detract from what is actually a complimentary comment.

Cancers are nurturing.  Give us your poor, your weak, your hungry.  Though America’s take on this is notably less open-arms, we are the world-ish than it has been in the past, we Cancers have a tendency to take on others problems.  So not only are we willing to listen and help out those that seek us out, we are also prone to go and defend people we see as helpless, even if we may have ulterior motives as well (like looking like the hero to impress girls, or making sure we can still make tons of money on oil).

That’s pretty much all I know about Cancer traits, and though I could go look it up, I am too lazy to do so and come up with a definitive list of traits.  Although I suppose we could throw in the laziness I just displayed as a trait since it certainly fits the bill – Americans are the fattest, laziest people on the planet.  There, now we have 4 traits.  Awesome.

As I insinuated earlier, my birthday is fast approaching as well and it always brings up a variety of thoughts and emotions for me.  Every year I always want my bday to be a big event where everyone shows up and displays their undying love and affection for me and I bask in their adoration and love them all back.  Needless to say, I am often let down (for example, the year when my parents forgot my birthday).  I was thinking the other day and trying to figure out why my bday always meant so much to me – I’ve always maintained that the two times people have to pay attention to me (though I appreciate attention most of the time) is when I’m sick or when it’s my birthday – and realized that a lot of it ties back into my childhood shyness.

I was never the outspoken, outgoing kid who got the center of attention merely by walking into a room.  I had to earn it with sarcastic comments here and there that most people wouldn’t get anyway.  As a result I always looked forward to my birthday because it was the one day where no matter what I was the center of attention.  People noticed me, everyone was nice to me and did things on my behalf.  I was less concerned with the fact that most of them did so out of a sense of obligation, it just felt good to be loved and admired without having to act out.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve had to take over planning duties for my birthday, which leads to even more anticipation and excitement being built around the day.  And then of course if things don’t go according to plan I’m at least somewhat disappointed (mostly in myself for not coming up with a more awesome and bulletproof strategy).  This year, though I could certainly use the pick me up given the last 3-4 months, I’ve decided to be more low key about it.  Lower expectations means I have less to worry about and hopefully I’ll do something fun.  If nothing else, it will be a present to myself and a sign of maturity as I enter my late-20’s that I don’t need all the pomp and circumstance of a birthday blowout to feel appreciated.  UNLIKE that insecure fucker America…grow up.

Slanglish –

 

I work in an office environment where everyone should be (which isn’t to say they are) on the phone most of the day.  Our job is to recruit people out of their existing jobs and place them in new ones and make money in the process.  As a result the people that are the most successful in our business are ones that are able to quickly build rapport, read people’s tone over the phone, grab their attention and connect with them all in less than about 5 minutes.  Definitely not the easiest thing to do and sometimes you stumble over your words a bit.  I have the ultimate privilege of sitting approximately 3-4 feet and one (completely  ineffective) cubicle wall away from one of the loudest land based mammals known to Southern California, who I will affectionately call TheMasters.

TheMasters is an absolute sweetheart, makes friends with everyone, goes out of her way to be sweet to complete strangers and is truly amazing on the phone.  She gets tons and tons of candidates, spends all day on the phone and is really starting to get rolling on closing some deals.  AND…she does all of this without the liberty of having a complete grasp of the English language.  She’s not particularly big on grammar – “oh I thought I heard a little one in the background…what’s he or she’s name?” – and has a tendency to mix up metaphors as bad as everyone I’ve ever else heard do it…combined.  Little gems like “don’t put all your eggs in one cookie jar”…”well that’s speaking from the horse’s mouth…not calling him a horse or anything”…and…”your resume doesn’t speak justice to who you are, you’re one bright cookie” provides endless entertainment for those of us in earshot (read: the greater Los Angeles area).

However, I got to thinking about the mistakes TheMasters was making.  We laugh because certain phrases are accepted within our culture as meaning certain things but to an apparent non-English speaker like TheMasters, these mistakes are understandable.  There are a LOT of sayings in the English language that don’t make much sense at all, and I thought I would explore some of them.

A Piece of Cake - Why is this the go-to saying for meaning something is really easy?  First of all, cakes are fucking tough to make (unless you are a girl name Tami that I work with, she is awesome at it).  Secondly, are we saying that cutting a piece of cake is easy?….Or that eating it is easy?…”All you have to do is unlock the door and the prize is yours, it’s a piece of cake!”  What is?  The lock?  The door?  I suppose the prize could literally be a piece of cake in this hypothetical but that’s not how it’s conventionally used and a rather underwhelming prize.

The Greatest Thing Since Sliced Bread - Really?…NOTHING noteworthy has come along since someone sliced bread that could supplant it’s greatness?  How about massage chairs, computers, Chipotle, iPhones, Diddy Riese cookies, airplanes, e-mail, me being born, or fucking radiohead?  Who are these yeast-loving elitists that remain unimpressed by modern miracles (yes all those above apply)?

Actions Speak Louder Than Words – What if your action is the act of talking?  Aren’t you by nature taking part in an action if you’re speaking?

You Want to Have Your Cake and Eat It Too - Yes, yes I do.  And I don’t feel the least bit bad about it.  Am I just supposed to have the cake and let it sit there?  The way this is phrased it would seem that you have to choose between having your cake and eating your cake and to ask to have both makes you a diva.  However, how do you eat your cake without having it?  To want to eat the cake you have received never seemed to be all that unreasonable a request.

She is the Apple of My Eye - What do apples have to do with eyes?  Aren’t potatoes the members of the produce gang that have eyes?  And if we’re using this to mean that she is the most cherished above all others, can’t we pick a better fruit?  Don’t get me wrong but I’d rather be the grape, watermelon, cantaloupe or pineapple of someone’s eye.  Fall back apple….fall back.

At the Drop of a Hat - We all know this to mean right away, but couldn’t we pick something heavier that would fall quicker?  How about at the drop of a brick?  Or at the drop of a very very fat person?  At the drop of a hat conveys to me that yeah that’s important i’ll do it soon, but I’m not instilled with a sense of urgency.

Bite Your Tongue - I don’t know about you, but if I bite my tongue I have a tendency to make a lot more noise than I was previously, not less.

Beat a Dead Horse - Where the hell did this come from?  Was there really someone who ran up on a dead horse and began beating it mercilessly, only to have a friend interrupt and point out the un-alive nature of said horse?  ”Ah, thanks friend, I was unaware…now I know that my efforts were unnecessary.”

Can’t Cut the Mustard - Unless there is a country in the world employing brick-like mustard for its sandwich needs, this doesn’t appear to be that arduous of a task.

Don’t Put All Your Eggs In One Basket - Why not?  This makes them much easier to carry.

Don’t Look A Gift Horse In the Mouth - Aside from perhaps Mr. Ed, I remain unconvinced that there are a lot of horses that are in a position to be handing out gifts.  And why would you look a horse in the mouth anyway, horses don’t see out of their teeth…I’ve never understood this one.

You Drink Like a Fish - I’m fairly sure fishes don’t drink that much, if they did there would be nothing left for them to swim in.

You’re Driving Me Up The Wall - Speed Racer and Minority Report aside, who is driving on walls and why is this considered a bad thing?  If someone drove me up a wall, I wouldn’t be upset, I would thank them and compliment their cool car.

Let’s Get Down To Brass Tacks - This seems to imply that all major negotiations revolve around brass tacks and frankly I haven’t seen or used a brass tack since I was making things in grammar school arts and crafts.  I highly doubt the potential Microsoft Yahoo merger was held up over an inability to agree on the use of brass tacks.

Going To Hell In A Handbasket - A handbasket?  That’s our mode of transportation?  Why can’t it either be something very fast (going to hell in a G4) or very uncomfortable (going to hell in coach in the middle seat of an American Airlines flight when the jackass in front of you keeps slamming into your knees)?  Other than those absurdly annoying little dogs (who ought to be shipped to hell) what fits in a handbasket?

Kick The Bucket - This means someone died.  How?  Were they standing near a bucket, had a heart attack and kicked the bucket as they fell over to die?  I highly doubt this has happened since the 1780’s in Ireland.

Lend Me Your Ear - If I give you my ear, then for whatever period of time you have it, I will not be paying attention as I will only be able to hear half as well.

It’s Raining Cats and Dogs - Can we at least pick animals that are very very big (it’s raining elephants and brontosaurus’) or animals that can fly and belong in the air anyway (it’s raining eagles and parakeets)?

The Whole Nine Yards - What things do you know that are nine yards?  At least they could make it 10 yards and thusly a first down, which is something that most football players want all of.

Til the Cows Come Home - Apparently the aforementioned cows are not under curfew and are the most serious partiers of all the livestock.  Or perhaps these cows are on a pilgrimage and as a result we do not expect them back any time in the near future and given their strict, conservative nature, we are allowed to do what we want until they return.

You Can’t Judge A Book By It’s Cover - I’m pretty sure most people do this when making a book purchase.  This is why the title, author, all the accolades and story summary are on the cover; it’s where you’re supposed to look to see if you want to read something.

Cat Got Your Tongue? - Of all things why would the cat have my tongue?  In my experience the cat usually either has my sock or has decided to scratch the shit out of my lap before having a nap on it.

Fly By The Seat Of Your Pants - Unless your asscheeks double for wings this is highly unlikely.  Either that or this is truly the next step in designer jeans.  Seven For All Mankind And Air Travel.

As you can see, TheMasters failure to properly use phrases and metaphors that make no literal sense when you use them correctly should not be held against her….though laughing in her general direction is entirely appropriate.  Feel free to leave comments with other common ones I may have left out…

 

I date too much…

I’ve realized this of late.  It’s expensive, it’s exhausting and oftentimes, it’s fruitless.  I suppose I’ve been more avid about dating lately because it dawned on me that I haven’t been in a relationship for well over 5 years and being in a relationship is a rewarding and lovely thing and frankly, I’m far too awesome to not have an awesome girlfriend.  This isn’t to say that I’m approaching women in bars with a look of despair in my eyes and begging them to see how great of a person I truly am…I save that approach for my online dating…(mostly) kidding.  It’s just that I’m open to the idea of a relationship where I haven’t been in the past and I’m giving myself more opportunities to be presented with that option.  However, there are a couple problems with my approach to dating:

1. I’m very picky.  I expect a LOT out of someone in a close relationship with me, be they friend or girlfriend.  This is the reason I’ve had the same close circle of friends for damn near a decade now – they are amazing, unique, intelligent individuals who all add value to my life and know and care for me and have my best interest in mind.  I have to truly respect you to let you into my inner circle.  That respect is borne out of combination of things, but briefly, you need to be funny, intelligent, caring (on a macro and micro level), and very importantly, I need to be very attracted to you.  I don’t mean you need to be objectively a perfect 10, I’m nowhere close (unless a 9 is close, then yes, I am close) but I need you to be beautiful to me.  And that can come in maaaaany different packages as I’ve dated a variety of ages, races, heights, etc.  I guess this boils down to three main things: be physically attractive, be funny and be smart.  Sounds simple doesn’t it?  Apparently not.

I feel like I’ve found so many women in LA that are extremes of certain characteristics that I look for in a woman, but rarely is there a balance.  For example, if a woman is intelligent, we spend the entire time talking about politics and civil rights and who’s gonna be the first to start the revolution and I’m left sitting there pondering the comedic genius that is potty humor (seriously, the word poo in and of itself is hilarious….replace shit, poop, dump or your favorite defacatory descriptor with poo…hours of laughs).  OR…if she’s sarcastic, which I often get confused for being, we spend the entire night trying to one-up each other, a competition she is bound to lose and find me more attractive in the process, and I’m left feeling as if I just went through 4 rounds of tryouts for an improv comedy team, it’s exhausting being this funny.  But I don’t necessarily feel that #1 is the problem for me, everyone should be picky about who they choose to be with so they can give their whole self to them, it’s that it’s coupled with #’s 2 and 3 that make it an issue.

2. I’m shy.  Those that know me well would completely disagree as I’m typically very outgoing, personable and likeable; but those that know me best know this to be true, I am a shy kid at heart, emphasis on heart.  I have no problem asserting myself in a family, friendship, acquaintance or even professional setting – I mean Sweet and Sour Jesus my job is to call strangers all day and try to convince them to trust me to get them a better job, you can’t be shy and be good at this, and I am good at my job.  However, I think I tend to compartmentalize those things a bit differently, even if it doesn’t make sense to do so.  If I upset my family or friends for something I do or say, I know they love me and we’ll get past it and I’m not shy about voicing my feelings or even admitting I’m wrong (I’m ready and prepared if and when this moment happens).  If I say or do something that causes an acquaintance or a friend of a friend to dislike me, my response is often either a). they don’t know me, I don’t take it personally or b). that was hilarious, fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.  At work if I get hung up on, or someone tells me they don’t want to work with me that’s fine, they have their professional interests at stake and I respect their decision to stay put or work with another recruiter, I don’t really take it all that personally (unless I’ve put a lot of time and effort into working with them and they screw me, in which case they are heartless douchebags and I hate them and all their friends).

But like I said, it’s different for me when it comes to approaching women and it always has been.  I take it personally if a girl doesn’t like me, even if she doesn’t know me.  If I find a girl attractive and I talk to her, I’m very likely much more reserved than I typically am because I want her to like me and I’m so invested in her judgment of me that I pull back and put on the doormat nice guy act so there is less to judge.  Without sarcasm there is less negativity, less of a chance something can be taken the wrong way, less of a chance something can go wrong.  It also seriously hinders the prospects of something going right.  Cognitively I know this, but I want this girl to like me, so I act more shy (read: boring) and consequently get passed over as a serious option.  However, a lot of this shyness is in the initial phase, the introduction or the getting to know you phase.  This leads to my last, and possibly most problematic flaw in my approach to women.

3. I don’t go after what I want.  If I get introduced to a girl or meet them in a social setting where most people know each other (so no, not Cheers, as I do not know her name) and there is no obvious agenda to my approaching her, then I’m fine.  We can talk to each other in a friendly manner with no necessary intent of needing her to decide quickly if she’s interested in continuing to talk to me or not; we’re just hanging out.  Alternatively, if I am in a bar/club and I see a woman and notice that – a). damn, she’s fine; b). she’s got a warmth about her, good energy, seems nice and cool (yes, I realize I just described a dream girl as both warm and cool…told you I was picky); and c). GOTdamn she’s fine – then I freeze.  Why?  Great question.  She clearly meets the preliminary criteria of what I want, so why don’t I go after it?  It’s a combination of things.  Part of it is ego and shyness – namely I think I’m pretty awesome and if she doesn’t agree then I take it personally and that sucks so why put myself in a position to be rejected.  But part of it is not wanting to come off as so blatantly transparent.  I consider myself to bring a lot to the table in all my relationships (friend, girl or otherwise) and I hate to simplify my interest and what I am to such a primitive emotion, especially since I know NOTHING about her other than how she looks from across the room.  In my head it always plays out as:

Me: “Hey, so I thought you were hot from over there….so I’m over here now.”

Her: “Oh….hi.”

Me: “Hi!….guess I shoulda thought through the rest of what I was gonna say.”

Her: “Probably woulda been a good move.”

Me: “Well then…um…you having fun tonight?”

Her: “Yeah….why don’t you go back over there and give this another shot-”

Me: “Oh, haha, ok like a do-over, cute.”

Her: “-with someone that’s not….me.”

Me: “Less cute.”

I’ve shared this bizarre, made-up scenario with several women I know and most of them say something to the effect of “that is sooo adorable, you should totally do that, if she’s cool she’ll appreciate your honesty”.  I have yet to try it.  More than anything I need to take the thinking out of it.  It really is analysis paralysis – or as the intro to Gin And Juice from Snoop’s Doggystyle reminds us “study long, study wrong”.  I’m too invested in the outcome at this point that I genuinely have to not care what happens in order to just be myself.  As a result, I have no problem charming the poo (funny? yes indeed) out of women I’m not interested in but those I do want I don’t go after for the most part.  The few exceptions are the instances described at the start of #3 where there is no pressure to do or say or act like anything and those are few and far between mostly because I’ve had the same damn circle of friends for almost a decade and we pretty much know everyone the rest of us know.

The one area where I’ve been completely comfortable approaching women without knowing them at all is via online dating (whatever, most of you have done it…and to those of you that haven’t you’ve all been on a date and you’re online right now, I just took it one step further).  The reason this is “safer” in a way is a). it’s not face to face and it’s not as soul crushing when you get a no and b). you can see so much about them (and vice versa) and display your true personality in your first interaction with them, which happens to be my strongest attribute.  The results are sometimes less than desirable but they do make for funny stories.

I think the problem inherent in my dating strategy is that because of the fact that I’m shy and I don’t go after what I want, I make concessions in my picky nature in order to date (as dating can be fun and the potential for a relationship is always exciting) and this ends up biting me in the ass in the longrun because ultimately they are not what I wanted in the first place.  This brings me back to my original point.  I tend to date way too much because I oftentimes go out with women who may not be exactly what I’m looking for.  This leads to more first dates and second dates but far fewer third dates.  ”Well,” you say, “clearly you’ve at least partially removed your head from your ass in this little diatribe, now you know what you need to do, so go do it.”  Yes and no.  Conceptually I know I need to be more assertive with who I go after, or at least be aware of what certain situations are and will be, the application is a bit tougher but well worth it.

For example, I recently went out with a woman 10+ years my senior who I’ve known for quite some time.  We both know we are at totally different places in our lives and know that any kind of relationship is out of the question.  But we’re attracted to each other and we enjoy each other’s company and you know what?  We had a blast – this is precisely what I’m talking about when I mentioned the importance of being aware of what certain situations are and will be.  Compare this with another date I recently went on with a girl who was very attractive and nice enough but I could tell had very different values than I did (namely, I valued intelligence and she did not).  We went out a couple times, I had some doubts and like I tend to do when confronted with an attractive woman who I’m not totally enamored with, I went out with her again.  It was in the middle of this date that my hunch was indeed confirmed based on a conversation we had.  We were talking about our families and the topic of being a big brother to my two younger sisters came up:

Me: “Well I’ve never really had to be all that protective of them since neither one has, to my knowledge, had a serious boyfriend.”

Her: “Really?  How old are they?”

Me: “22 and 24″

Her: “Wow…well what if they are lesbians?  Like, what would you do if they came to you and told you they were a lesbian?”

Me: “Um, love and support them.  I might be a little shocked initially but they are my sisters I love them no matter what.  You say that as if there’s something wrong with being a lesbian….what if your brother came to you and told you he was gay?”

Her: “No.”

Me: “What?”

Her: “Nope”

Me: “What do you mean no?  What if he came to you and told you he was gay?  What would you do?”

Her: “I would take him out and get him some pussy.”

Me: “And what if he said ‘No thanks, I don’t want pussy, I prefer dick’?”

Her: “Wouldn’t work, unacceptable.”

Me: “What the hell do you mean?”

Her: “Look, I’m not homophobic, I just don’t believe in homosexuality.”

Yes kids, for those of you scoring at home, my date did indeed say, “I’m not homophobic, I just don’t believe in homosexuality.”  Wow….just….wow.  Ignorance beyond ignorance.  At this point the civil rights lawyer within me started doing pushups and shadowboxing in preparation for a fight but I calmly finished my drink and as we were both fairly tired, suggested we call it a night.  Just for kicks, let’s briefly explore the lunacy of that statement.  Mirriam-Webster defines homophobia as the “irrational fear of, aversion to, or discrimination against homosexuality or homosexuals.”  In her mind, she probably rationalizes it as “I’m not afraid of gay people, I just don’t believe they’re really gay cause it’s not natural and they must have made a choice.”  However, when you “don’t believe in homosexuality” you are completely discounting their way of life, which is certainly discriminatory and absolutely falls under the definition of homophobia.  Don’t the homosexual acts of the members of the anti-gay Christian right prove that one’s sexual orientation is not a choice?  (Bill Maher makes this point in his “Dickheads of the Year” article for Rolling Stone)

*Steps off soap box*

In any event, I suppose I’m saying all this as a means of challenging myself not to date for the sake of dating in hopes that the B candidate will somehow morph into an A+ with a trip to El Cholo and a couple margaritas.  I’m challenging myself to either really go after what I want and be truly excited about dates I go on, or cut that shit out and go out with people I know I’ll have fun with, even if there’s no potential for something serious.  Something I’m sure both my wallet and my ego will appreciate.

Weddings, Drunk Drivers and Benzes, oh my!

It’s been a while since I wrote something, mostly because I worked my ass off last week and was tired when I got home each night and then this week has been nothing but drama.  I’m really starting to realize that you can’t go 100% at my job every week, sometimes you have to take days off (not completely, but just do more low key stuff) cause it’s not easy to be “on” all the time and excite people about changing jobs.  I guess I’m still learning how to most efficiently run my desk and try to stay positive, which has been particularly tough considering the universe decided to wind up and shit all over my life time after time for the last few months.

In any event, on Saturday my “little” sister (she’s 6′1″) drove up to my place from San Diego and left my parents Solara with me, as my parents had agreed to take my car and sell it and give me the Solara as opposed to just selling the Solara since my sister is moving to NYC and will no longer need it.  We drove up to San Francisco for my cousin, Rebecca’s, wedding.  If you’ve ever taken this joyful little trip up I-5 you can back me up on the fact that there is literally nothing between LA and the Bay Area.  And I don’t mean that in the “oh there are some boring towns that aren’t as cool as San Francisco” way…no, there is literally nothing but farmland and open space.  As a result, when my sister decided to nap half the way up, I had to jam 3,286 sunflower seeds in my mouth to keep myself awake – I now have fulfilled my body’s sodium intake through roughly 2013.

We got to my aunt’s place and my other cousin Scott, his wife Becky and their two kids Maya (3 years old) and Sebastian (9 months old) were there and I was quickly reminded of how much I love kids.  After dinner my aunt handed Sebastian off to me and though he had been crying pretty much instantaneously when anyone he didn’t know was holding him, he warmed up to me pretty quickly – of course this may have had something to do with the fact that he had napped and been fed immediately prior to sitting with me but let’s not get caught up in the minutia.  We played with my iPhone, he danced a little and then promptly sharted on my left thigh…fortunately for all parties involved he was wearing a diaper at the time.  A little later Maya and I played jumprope, which basically consisted of her holding a rope of beads in each hand like a jumprope and I would lift her up and she would jump over it and then back again.  Endless entertainment.

The next morning I was still a bit groggy considering my sister decided that the best way to inform me that I was snoring the night before was to throw a candy bar at my head and tell me to shutup at 3 AM.  I took a nap while my sisters shopped for outfits for the wedding and was ready to go upon their return.  I’m used to getting dressed up as I had to be suited and booted  every day of the week at my old job but my family is a different story.  We’ve never gone to church and so we don’t have “church clothes” and given that my parents live in the Northwest (unless you work for a REALLY snooty company, wearing Birkenstocks and jeans with a flannel button up shirt to work is pretty much par for the course) getting all gussied up isn’t exactly in the Russell repertoire.  I was really pleasantly surprised by how great everyone looked…my mom and sisters wore dresses (*gasp*) and makeup (*GASP*) but my dad attempted to wear three markedly different shades of grey with the only commonality in the garments being a notable lack of ironing.  My sisters quickly remedied this somehow and off we went.

The wedding was at a great winery in Napa and the setting was perfect.  It was a really small ceremony and I was surprised at how few people my cousin’s age (25) were there – which was naturally a disappointment for me, as I was informed by the Wedding Crashers that weddings are the perfect place to meet hot single women.  Fuck you for getting my hopes up Wedding Crashers, fuck you in your stupid face.  The actual ceremony from start to finish was only about 10-15 minutes, which I found to be VERY quick but probably the right amount of time given the fact that the groom (my cousin was the bride) looked eerily similar to a deer in the headlights.  It was as if as soon as he walked down the aisle his central nervous system shut down and he was on autopilot.  The one thing his body remembered to do was smile so he had an enormous smile paired with terrified eyes and a Frankenstein body as he made his way from singledom to married life.  I was actually a bit concerned that this had greater implications but it was quite evident during the reception that it was just nerves and that he and my cousin are going to be very happy together for a very long time.  Immediately after the ceremony when the bride and groom were making their rounds and saying their thank you’s I managed to catch this little pearl of a conversation between the groom and an elderly woman I can only assume is somehow related to him.

Woman: “Congratulations!  I’m so proud of you, you managed to hold it together, didn’t even cry!”

Groom: “Are you kidding?!  I was crying my balls off up there, I just managed to hide it from everyone.”

Woman: “Crying your balls off?”

Groom: *shrug* “I dunno, I’ve had a lot to drink…”

Woman: “….oh…”

The food was good, the wine was great and as soon as I was done eating, little Maya was tugging on my shirt.  ”Um, Clint…I wanna play jumprope.”  It became quickly evident that we were sans jumprope as no one thought to bring one to a wedding, but we improvised and ended up using my tie as the rope.  I took Maya up on the porch overlooking the reception and we started playing jumprope for all to see.  And for any that weren’t already paying attention, Maya felt the need to alert them – “MOMMY!!!!  MOMMY!!!!  WATCH ME JUMPROPE!!!……….GRANDMA!!!!  GRANDMA!!!!  LOOK HOW HIGH I’M GOING!!!”  This prompted another little girl, presumably from the groom’s side of the family, who I had never met before, to wander up and announce that she, too, would like to take part in the jumproping festivities.  Who am I to say no?

Pretty soon we were jumproping backwards and forwards and I was teaching them how to limbo and then i tied them together and they walked around and showed their parents that yes, they were in fact tied together.  I had forgotten how easily little kids are entertained.  We’re so laden with fast-paced images and immediate sensory gratification via TV and the Internet and cell phones that we often forget that when we were younger we could play with a cardboard box that a refrigerator came in for HOURS and then get up and do it all over again the next day.  The three of us also branched out and played hide and go seek and tag and about halfway through this 3 year old pentathlon my aunt came up and sat down next to me.  

Aunt: “This is SO cute, you’re really good with kids….tell me the truth, are you doing this to impress a girl?”

Me: “Um, no, just having fun”

Aunt: “Well why the hell not?  This is adorable and it would TOTALLY work.”

Me: ”Duly noted.”

About a half hour went by (and apparently several drinks for my Aunt) and after the girls were tired out and went to go have dessert my Aunt came up to me again.

Aunt: “You really are great with kids.”

Me: “Thanks yeah we had fun.”

Aunt: “Here’s the thing, you need to get a girl-”

Me: “OK”

Aunt: “-because a girl can PROVIDE you with kids, that’s how it works.”

Me: “No I get it, just been single for quite a while, so I’m working on the girl part before I jump into any offspring endeavors.”

Aunt: “Well what the hell’s the problem?!”

Me: “I’m shy at times and I don’t always go after what I want.”

Aunt: “Oh….well fix that.”

Me: “Good talk.”

The night wrapped up with the traditional display of moderately coordinated dancing on the part of all the white folks in attendance (read: 94% of the party).  The newlyweds kicked it off with some dance that looked as if it was a mix between a waltz and a swing dance, but in slow motion.  My parents then jumped in after much prodding from us kids and we watched my dad hobble a bit on his bad knee and my mom somehow managed to miss every single bass-line.  I was convinced that she either legitimately could not hear the same song we were listening to, or it was some act of defiance against rhythm everywhere – “No no rhythm, I hear you…I’m doing this my way.”

I spent most of Monday traveling, 2 hour drive to SF from Napa, 2 hour BART ride from SFO to Oakland airport, delayed flight so another 2 hours til I actually got home.  I was so relieved to be home that I went in and sat down and relaxed for a couple hours before hunger overtook me and I trudged out to my new (to me) Solara.  As I was walking up (I had parked down the block a bit to avoid a Monday morning parking ticket) it appeared that my rear tire was a bit flat.  Once I got close enough to see what had happened I just stood there stunned for several minutes.  It was as if the universe had decided that the 2 month long series of financial difficulties wasn’t enough…it was time to up the ante.  Based on the information I gathered from my neighbor soon thereafter, apparently at around 2:30 AM on Sunday morning, a drunk driver decided to take that turn a little bit more briskly than his motor skills were ready for and he slammed into 4 parked cars in a row, a la 40 Year Old Virgin.  The last car he hit hugged onto his car like a father clings to the image of his daughter being a virgin and the rest of us that got hit were all thankful since he couldn’t escape and was arrested, his car impounded and his insurance information obtained.  He decided to kick off this little display by smashing up the entire driver’s side of my car, blowing out the rear tire and rendering the car undriveable.  Awesome.  Just.  Fucking.  Awesome.

I spent the next 2-3 hours on the phone with my insurance company, his insurance company, the police, the department of transportation and my parents trying to sort out this mess.  After which it was concluded that nothing could be done until the morning.  Awesome round 2.  I missed most of work getting the car towed, talking to the insurance companies, filing a claim, etc. but one little conversation cheered much of that up.  I was at Enterprise (they picked me up!) getting a rental car and they had me all set to drive some Kia Optima or some such shit and we had this conversation.

Enterprise People: “We picked you up!”

Me: “You sure did.”

EP: “So, you all set with the Optima?”

Me: “Yeah, unless you got a Benz lying around here.”

EP: “Actually we do, right out back, an E350…it’s nice”

Me: “Really?….How much more a day is that?”

EP: “Normally $100 more than what you’re paying but we can do it for $65.”

Me: “Ha…nah I can’t afford that.”

EP: “$35″

Me: “Nah, that’s too much.”

EP: “$25″

Me: “Sorry, I don’t think so.”

EP: “$25″

Me: “Sold.”

So now, for the last few days I’ve been driving around this 2008 E350 and loving it.  I’m fairly certain this car was made for me.  Unfortunately I have to return it tomorrow because of some mixup on the insurance company’s part, but it was fun while it lasted.  Here’s to hoping this is the start of something new cause that E class is damn sure what the future looks like. 

The Desert Island 10

There’s a scene in the movie “High Fidelity” wherein John Cusak, who always seems to land himself roles where he gets to talk to the camera, tells us that “what really matters is what you like, not what you’re like…books, records, films – these things matter.”  To a certain extent I agree, though I think that what you’re like informs what you like and vice versa.  My former roommate Kraig LOVED Rush Limbaugh, ipso facto Kraig was an insufferable pridefully ignorant douchebag.  I’ve had this conversation (what are your desert island top 10 albums, movies, books, etc.) with quite a few people of late and decided that I’d share mine with you.  Let us begin with albums.  Keep in mind that this doesn’t necessarily make this my top ten favorite albums, though there is significant overlap, but if I’m going to be on an island forever, I want a good cross-section of music.

 

TOP TEN ALBUMS

1. Mos Def – Black on Both Sides.  My favorite album of all time.  I can tell I really like an album if Ieast least genuinely like every track on the album.  I love every song on this album.  He shows such musical diversity and tackles such a wide variety of topics.  Interestingly enough I wasn’t crazy about this album when I first heard it but it just got better and better as I got less and less stupid.  Truly a masterpiece.  Highlights – Ms. Fat Booty, Speed Law, Climb, Umi Says
2. D’Angelo – Voodoo.  I’ve decided that D’Angelo’s voice itself is an instrument and is on full display here.  As is typical of great albums, the sequencing and flow of the album is tremendous and more than anything it feels like an experience as opposed to 12-20 songs.  I’m fairly sure that this album was responsible for 68% of all conceptions from 1999-2001.  Highlights – One Mo’gin, The Root, Untitled (How Does It Feel), Africa
3. Radiohead – Kid A.  Though I know more about other genres like hip-hop and R&B, I consider radiohead to be the best rock band of my generation.  They’ve never put out anything less than very good and several of their albums are nearly perfect.  In fact I could easily take OK Computer or In Rainbows in place of Kid A here but Kid A has a certain sentimental value for me.  The first time I heard this album I was in my dorm at college playing a computer game with the lights off.  I listened to the album all the way through 3 times before I even moved.  This really is an experience album for me, which makes differentiating between songs to give highlights more difficult but I shall try.  Highlights – Everything In Its Right Place, The National Anthem, Idioteque, Motion Picture Soundtrack
4. Slum Village – Fantastic Vol. 2.  Though it’s difficult to point to a highlight in the production career of J Dilla as he reinvented his sound several times and was amazing at every juncture, I think this album gives the best representation of his production abilities from start to finish.  This was also a mind-blowing album for me because it was the first album I can remember hearing where the MCs (Baatin, T3, Dilla) were just talking shit – about women, making money, and yes smoking – but it wasn’t highly-commercialized and actually had a soulful vibe to it; thanks largely to Dilla’s production.  Highlights – Climax (Girl Shit), Tell Me, Fall In Love, Get Dis Money
5. Jimi Hendrix – The Ultimate Experience.  Not an album in the traditional sense, thus the reason for the lack of sequencing and flow, it is still a collection of the best songs of the best guitar player to ever live.  Jimi was left handed and learned to play by playing a right handed guitar upside down and eventually could play both rhythm and lead guitar AT THE SAME TIME.  I would sacrifice two of my toes and three inches of height to be able to play the guitar like this.  Highlights – The Wind Cries Mary, Angel, Little Wing, Voodoo Chile (Slight Return)
6. Outkast – ATLiens.  It was really tough to choose between this and Aquemini and I would be very happy with either but since I was exposed to this album first I chose it.  Also, I really like every track on this album and “Mamacita” on Aquemini bugs the shit out of me.  At this point in their career I felt like Big Boi and Andre 3000 were really on the same level lyrically and though people sleep on Big Boi to a criminal degree these days, Andre really did establish himself as the clear better of the two from Aquemini on.  This always hurts an album for me as I tend to listen closely to the stronger MC and tune out when the weaker is rhyming.  I never got that from this album.  It’s also important to note that the actual CD had a naked woman on it and this only strengthened my admiration for them when I heard it for the first time at 15.  Does this make me shallow?  No, it makes them excellent excellent marketers with a similar fondness for beautiful naked women.  Highlights – ATLiens, Wailin’, Mainstream, 13th Floor/Growing Old
7. Dave Matthews Band – Live at Luther College.  This is kinda cheating as it’s a double CD but it’s my list so deal with it.  I actually like these versions of the songs much better than the album versions with the full band behind him.  And Tim Reynolds is good at playing guitar….very very good.  This will always remind me of Prague since I got it right before I left to study abroad there and listened to it almost daily for the 4 months I was there.  Highlights – One Sweet World, Crash Into Me, The Christmas Song, Say Goodbye
8. Jay-Z – The Blueprint.  This album changed hip-hop in my opinion.  It was the introduction of Kanye West and Just Blaze’s amazing production talents, which in turn led to everyone and their mother attempting the sped up soul sample production that these two had perfected.  Also, this was really the turning point for Jay career-wise.  Up to this point he had done amazing albums (Reasonable Doubt) and had huge singles (Hard Knock Life, I Just Wanna Love You) but this was the first time he brought them together.  A great album from start to finish with AMAZING production and several very popular singles.  This was the beginning of Jay’s status as The Don of hip-hop and from this point on he could do no wrong…unless of course you count the second half of Kingdom Come which was pretty damn underwhelming.  Also, includes two of the best verses hip-hop has ever seen…unfortunately for Jay they both belonged to Eminem. Highlights – Takeover, Jigga That N***a, Heart of the City (Ain’t No Love), Renegade
9. Blu & Exile – Below the Heavens.  A modern hip-hop classic.  While it is fairly risky to put such a recent (2007) album on a top ten list this album really is outstanding.  I was told by several people that it was the album of the year and being the skeptic I am I was not prone to agree…until of course I listened to the album at which point I became it’s biggest champion (the last track really makes me want to stand up and cheer every time I hear it…which can make for some awkward moments when you are in a library).  A terrific debut from an artist I hope to hear a lot more from in the years to come.  Highlights – Cold Hearted, Dancing in the Rain, The Narrow Path, The World Is…
10. (tie) Dwele – Some Kinda/Robin Thicke  - The Evolution of Robin Thicke/Anthony Hamilton – Comin’ From Where I’m From.  Is this cheating?  Yes, yes it is.  I wanted a very good contemporary R&B album (because as my friend Kieran so deftly pointed out “What if there are women on this island?!”) and had a hard time choosing between the three.  All three are staples of the marginally suave Clinton seduction technique that admittedly is far from being perfected.  Highlights – (Dwele) Holla, Lay It Down, I Think I Love You, Old Lovas; (Robin Thicke) Lost Without You, I Need Love, Can U Believe, Lonely World; (Anthony Hamilton) Mama Knew Love, Charlene, Comin’ From Where I’m From, Lucille

Ok that took a lot longer than expected so I’m stopping there for now, I’ll do the movies and books another time.  Feel free to comment or leave your own list in the comments section.

Dear Middle School Clint…

It’s been a while since I’ve seen you, roughly 13-16 years I believe.  I was talking to a friend today and realized that I have so much I can teach you, so much I can share that will ease the awkward pain that puberty cruelly brings – along with a vocoder voice, acne and hair in your crotchal region.  This by no means guarantees that if you avoid these habits, fashions or ideas your formative years will be a breeze, however they are words worth heeding.  A few thoughts:

• Cut your hair or grow it out – This ambivalent “i don’t want long hair but i don’t want a buzz cut so maybe i’ll just keep it in the middle and comb it backwards” attempt at style falls decidedly short and ultimately makes you look like a Sonic the Hedgehog….except less blue and adorable.  Try shaving your head.  Now I’m at the point where I can’t really give it a shot and who knows, it may be a good look for us.  Sadly, when I was your age I was content with this trainwreck of a style and now I simply don’t have the shaved head in the arsenal.
• Don’t get braces – Somehow you were talked into getting braces because of one tooth.  ONE TOOTH!  Really?  Just wait for Invisalign or some such retainer-based technology to come along so that you can have a shot with women over the next 5 years.  Or if you do get braces, get clear ones.  Yes I know Mom will be very convincing with her “but the blue ones bring out your eyes” argument but trust me, the less people notice them, the better.
• Wear jeans – Sweatpants simply are not a legitimate clothing option at this point in your life.  Yes, this may change when you return to diapers in your 70s but for all intents and purpose, if it has an elastic waistband and you’re not playing a sport, do not wear it.
• Learn how to get tan – This mystery still eludes me so I have very little guidance for you here.  However, I need you to figure this out.  It’s not as if we are Powder, bending spoons white, but we do retain a reddish sunburnt glow in the summer and a lighter shade of pale the rest of the year.  Tan people are more attractive, ergo, get tanner.
• Play football - You will be good at it, very good.  And, contrary to Mom and Dad’s claim to have “tons of articles” about all the players who have been paralyzed playing high school football, you really will be ok.  After all, there are no pads in basketball, in football, said padding is not only encouraged, it is required.  Plus, this will make for a better explanation as to why you got fatter later in life.  Girl: “Soooo, why are you so…big?” You: “Oh i used to be a D-lineman in college” Girl: “Woooow, here’s my number…and my address…and the key to my house”.  You will enjoy this.
• Be sarcastic – Nice guys don’t necessarily finish last, but those that are boring as fuck certainly do.  The whole doormat nice guy routine will ultimately get you nowhere, unless you’re going after 30 something women who have grown tired of being wronged by the “bad boys” they used to be attracted to.  In which case, that approach may land you one….and then she will promptly cheat on you with a “bad boy”….and you will let her.  Man up!  I’m not positive, but I’m fairly sure your testes have dropped at this juncture so it’s time to take charge of your life and what you want.  If you want to attract women, have some sort of edge.  Given the fact that you’re not legitimately an asshole, act like one when circumstances provide you with the opportunity to be funny – it works.  This attracts girls initially and your inherent nice guyness will keep them around.
• Kiss a girl sooner - It’s not the worst thing in the world that you will decide to wait until 8th grade to kiss a girl.  However, it is inexcusable that you would wait until your junior year of high school to partake in this little adventure again.  If a girl is dating you, she wants you to kiss her plain and simple.  There’s no need for mood lighting or appropriately timed walks in the woods.  If the two of you are alone, grab her and kiss her.
• Invent Proactiv – Not a whole lot more I can do for you on the acne front, it’s coming.  The good news is, it comes for most people and if you can find a way to clear things up a bit better than the other pubescents, I like your chances.
• Do not attempt to be the pensive, deep kid – While this strategy seems deeply compelling, given the success it continually has on TV and in movies, no one really wants to hang out with the weird kid.  Be yourself, most certainly, but randomly spinning in the hallways and perfecting a morose facial expression is not the way to get a girlfriend, or friends for that matter.
• Do not drink milk – I hate to break it to you, as I know cereal is fucking awesome, but you will soon develop lactose intolerance and I don’t want you to suffer through months of confusion, abdominal pain and assplosions.
• Keep listening to hip-hop – For some reason you abandoned it right when it was getting good and opted for “alternative” music.  You can listen to both Nirvana and Tribe Called Quest and this way you won’t miss out on the golden age of hip-hop and have to spend the rest of your life playing catch up.

These are just a few general ideas, I’m sure I’ll be in touch as you near high school and have specific questions about girls and whatnot (e.g. go after Maile Smith, she’s hot and cool and eventually becomes a Mormon, so it’s a small window; break up with Bree after high school, for good…she will drive you crazy, cause you heartache and force you to miss out on fun drunken times in college, which is really where you ought be making bad decisions; etc.).  Until then, keep your chin up….eventually you will be as awesome as me.

Cordially,

Present Day Clint