THE WEEKEND

14 04 2008

“Stephen A? Is it really you?” I say this somewhat shocked, because Stephen A has been out of contact for a while.
“Greetings, I am in East Hollywood [meaning East LA].” Steve is not screaming with joy as he says this.
“Wha-what are you doing here?” I am screaming with joy and confusion as a Stephen A sighting always means booze and women
“I am here to get a phD in film.”
“What?” He makes no sense to me or our mutual friend Lucky who is equally excited to hear that Stephen A is in town.
“I am here to get a DVD.” Stephen A’s attempts at humor are not that funny, for the simple reason that it is possible that Steve came all the way across the country just for the purpose of getting a DVD, I wouldn’t put it past him. I decide to not press the issue further and get back into pleasantries.
“Steve, how did you get here, how long are you staying, what’s your schedule like?”
“Don’t know, bought a one-way ticket, I am staying with my friend in Korea-town.”
“Great, what are you up to tonight?” As the prospect of a random night with Stephen A is almost too great an opportunity for either Lucky or myself to pass-up.
“Don’t know, the energy levels are low right now,” says Steve in typical Steve fashion.

And with that we pretty much said goodbye and that we would see each other later on in the weekend. I was already feeling rather hung-the-fuck-over from Thursday night’s excursion to Bar Lubitsch where I pounded negronis (equal parts Campari, gin, and sweet vermouth) with my coworkers and then decided to run home in a drunken stupor. Friday I was lucky enough to smoke some weed and watch the new episode of Battlestar Galactica…then I got a bit drunk with my friend Lucky and his girlfriend Chadha and got a bit drunk and had some Korean bbq for the first time. It may have been dog meat, but that shit is delicious, some of my favorite stuff on the planet.

So Saturday comes around and guess what? It’s 92 degrees, and also, my friend and coworker Sir Paul informed me that the weekend would be festive as his girlfriend’s friends would be in town and looking to get friendly. So I go on a long hike to the top of Runyon Canyon and almost died while up there. And here’s another thing: clean up after your dogs people. I have noticed an abundance of dog shit in town and if you are too much of an asshole to clean up after your dog…then get a cat as they bury their own feces.

So Saturday night I go to El Compadre with Sir Paul, Sir Alex, and Paul’s girlfriend & her friends. The girl in question does not look that good in good light and she has mentioned that she has Red Sox tattooed near her lady parts…classy. So the disastrous dinner winds down and my friend the General arrives for no other reason than to tell me he is going to pick up Stephen A and that we should go to the woods. Sir Paul and his clan are heading off to a club and I tell them we will meet up at which point Sir Paul’s lady grabs me by the arm and tells me that I better show up because the girl in question has a crush on me. I oblige her and intend to keep my word, as the thought of receiving oral copulation in a bathroom of a trendy place sounds really awesome.

I go to my old haunt THE WOODS where there is a line to get in. I am perplexed, as TW is a dive about as grimy as could be. It could be the strip mall its in, it could be the liquor store with the homeless man with AIDS right next door: sidenote, here’s a joke from him. “I’m all about religion, did y’all know that I am a Mormon? As In I have done more men than women.” So I meet up with Stephen A and the General, and the General’s not-so-hot new piece shows up and drives us to the place. ***In retrospect, it probably would have been cheaper to take a cab there and back as the valet cost $15…and didn’t include a magazine subscription.***

So we make it to S Bar and Sir Paul pulls some strings to get us in – much obliged – and we get to hanging. Now, Stephen A is a good looking dude and when he started talking to the slutty girl who was supposed to be all up in mah shit nigga. Shyeeet. Anyway, I am happy to report that the girl was not phased by Stephen A’s…A’ness (hehehe). She liked me despite the threat of Stephen A’s looks and if nothing else, I am happy that this event took place because it signals to me that I am at least doing a bit better with the ladies. The night goes on and the girl and I are getting cozy on the couch. In dark light, she’s fine,

***SIDENOTE: the amount of respect I have for most of my coworkers and superiors is non-existent. It’s not that these people are evil, it’s that they’re retarded and evil. I hate the majority of people who work here. What a terrible incompetent group of dumbasses. Fuck these white people.***

So we’re winding down and I am making out with this girl at the bar. It’s something I try to curtail because I am not a big fan of PDA and can recount at least 6 instances in the past year where I have gotten sucked into this vortex. The more PDA one does with a female stranger, the less likely he is to get into her pants. FACT.

We’re leaving, she wants me to come back to Sir Paul’s girlfriend’s place where she and her two friends will be staying and words cannot express my lack of desire to spend the night on someone’s couch in Silverlake with a bunch of spectators when I have perfectly nice accomodations waiting for me at home. I told the girl that I would be happy for her to come home with me, and I would get her to wherever she needed to go tomorrow. Her friends came up to me and you could here it in their voices, they did not want her to go with me…nor should they have. I have been known to shoot myself in the proverbial foot every now and then, but for some girl I didn’t really care about, I thought the least I could do was be honest. The girls, both of whom I found to be quite attractive – although the really hot one was about as interesting as a 2 x 4 – asked me the question “if you were in our shoes what do you think we should say?” ‘Go sleep with a stranger who has a knife collection,’ ‘Go home with this strange man who might be secretly filming your encounter,’ yeah, sure, that’ll happen. These girls were just looking for verification that I am an asshole. I am an asshole, but I am an honest asshole, honest to a fault. And I wasn’t nearly drunk enough to notice that this girl was rather, well, the Red Sox tat near her box in indicative enough. So I look these girls in the eye and say “I would gladly take her home, but honestly, if I were you guys, I would probably tell her to go home with you.”

The time comes for us to part ways and the girl is now adamant about coming with me. I am flattered, but there will be others, and there will be better. I am standing with the three girls while the General and his piece – who looks remarkably like an older relative of mine – are standing on the sidelines, pretty much laughing at me. I in no way mean to offend the General, but I feel like he gets very sanctimonious when it comes to this area of my life. I will certainly tell you that he is more adept at picking up women than am I, but neither of us are that good, and while he gets a lot more ass than do I, we both have issues with finding quality ass. So the General is standing there as I tell this girl that all she would be to me is another one night stand. The General and Sir Paul are standing on the sidelines at which point the General leans over and says “I have more respect for him for doing this….but i also have less respect for him for the same reason.”
He seems disappointed that I would be turning down this opportunity, but it isn’t a real opportunity: I certainly shouldn’t go to her friend’s apartment, and the reality is, her friends really don’t want her going with me and I cannot fault them for feeling as such. That is a quandary if I have ever seen one. If I failed in any way it is that I didn’t truly underscore my desire to get a hummer in the club. There were certainly bathrooms available, and although the clock was running low (as we entered the venue at around 1) there was still plenty of time…not to mention that I heard that this was the type of thing that was possible with this girl.

The night is almost over and Stephen A from planet Steve is gone. He left with two random skanks he invited back to our place. It didn’t matter that they were old and gross, he still managed to just look at them and tell them give him a ride to our place and hang out. Of course, Stephen A with his low energy levels was not able to make the magic happen with the Mexican chick. I don’t remember what went on, but that was mostly because the girl who wanted to come over called me at 3 AM and chewed my ear off for an hour, talking about how she really liked me and how I was different than any guys she had ever met and how she wanted to come over. More phone calls throughout the night became increasingly toxic to my psychological state as the target kept calling to tell me that she and her roommate were on the verge of being kicked out of their accommodations and wondering if they could stay with me. There was yelling in the background and I really didn’t want to hear any more of it, so I just eventually said goodnight and passed out.

What’s the moral of this story? Well, there are opportunities in life which are meretricious to the hardcore and if you can suss these out, it doesn’t matter what other people think. Sure, I could have spent the night in Silverlake, but on a couch with three other people present, that doesn’t sound like fun. Sure, I could have cajoled this slutty lush back to my spot to do bad things to her, but I was being honest when I told her, that it would just be a one-night thing. Did I have to do and say those things? Not necessarily, but as someone who puts all of his embarrassing life moments out there for the public to read, well, let’s just say that I am comfortable with telling the whole truth…even when that truth can have negative effects on me.

Til next time…GOOD HUNTING.





RELAX WITH THE EMAILS

8 04 2008

NEWS OF THE WEAK: “Responding to allegations that manager Ozzie Guillen is a racist because he tends to favor latin players of some of his white players, Guillen responds by saying ‘I don’t pick my lineup based on who’s Latino.'”
Really Ozzie? Because I certainly would. If you make your lineup based on anything other than who is Latino, you’re talking about two guys…and one of them is the bat boy.

SUBJECT: TOO MANY EMAILS

I got 51 emails in the course of a few hours today. Most of them were to tell me nothing in particular and most of htem were work related. Mostly, I received a lot of general “feelers” for information. Didn’t make me feel good about myself. Now, I know I have gone a little blog crazy in this past…hour, but this is a valid post. In the course of a day, I get about 70, 80, 90, sometimes even 100 emails. I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all. If I have more than 10 to deal with, I am pissed off. Because most of them are general and not personalized to me, I can delete before I really look at them, but I don’t always get that chance. They sit in my inbox, taking up space, and causing agita. This is nothing that I need to concern myself with, so why is it causing me so much strife? Because it’s something else to manage. Even the mail you don’t give a shit about, you still have to take the time and effort to delete, but wait, you can’t get it out of the deleted folder because of the .0001 percent chance that you will need to recall some of this information later. So now you are at a point where you need to organize your deleted items. That is some bullshit right there. That is un-American as far as I am concerned. That is the height of bureaucracy at it’s most personal and lamest. When you have to organize time in your day to process your own deleted crap.
Emails should be a more personal thing: if you wouldn’t make a phone call to the person you are emailing, you shouldn’t email them. It’s just another chance to start a stupid chain, a thread even, a dialogue, a discourse, on the subject which you are currently discussing. There is always so much work to be done in the course of a day and if you really take the time to think about it, if you wouldn’t conference call 28 people for the sake of finding someone’s number or address…then DON’T EMAIL THEM. Why not simply CHAT a select group of people you are tight with to find out the information? I don’t care about your problems and I don’t need you to email me to tell me that you need to talk with me. Email is a big responsibility, and giving out your email address is a dangerous proposition. You think it is the type of thing that is harmless, but that is how the feds track a person, that is how someone feels it is okay to communicate with you UNDER THE SAME ASSUMPTION THAT YOU SHOULD RETURN THEIR INQUIRY. If you give me an email, it should mean that I am as responsible for it as I would be a telephone with a voicemail system. If it has the same power, then why are we just as beholden to it as we are the telephone if we are receiving 20X the amount of information. Fuck that shit. It’s just more responsibility that you have to take in your life; much of this is the same type of responsibility that members of the federal government find to be too trying.





KARMA IS A BITCH

7 04 2008

Most of the time, I am a 24-hour erection. Recently I have been seeing a woman whom I am not that attracted to and guess what? I have been having trouble getting it up. It’s unfortunate, but I ain’t embarrassed: this girl has the worst technique of any woman I have ever been with (not that many) and I think much of the problem is due to sheer nerves. But wait, I have been drinking. Yes, but I haven’t been drinking enough, because when I do, I will nail any fat chick from here to Manitoba. It’s not that she is unattractive, but the things she says, the awful perfume she wears, and her ridiculous ambitions; more than anything, it was a synergy of all three; a symbiosis of crap. A perfect storm of unwanted vitriol built up inside of me.
The first night she came over, things worked out, but I was still able to stand at attention when it mattered. The second time, you can add your own euphemism to describe it. I was agog thinking to myself: oh god, why hast thou forsaken thee by causing this to happen. It happened to me when I was 17, but I had already gotten past that. I could have thrown in the towel and reduced myself to more years of self-scrutiny and general mental instability. BUT, I didn’t, I called her up – even though I didn’t want to see her for reasons other than my performance – we made plans to hang out, and wouldn’t you know it, more of the same problems.
I guess I should have mentioned this earlier, as it should be known that I have a voice inside my head in the guise of Peter Dragon (Jay Mohr’s character from the show ACTION) who is really a precursor to ENTOURAGE’S Ari gold (and a much finer character to boot). Fictitious deviant Peter Dragon is yelling at me, calling me a pussy when I am failing with this girl. He also accompanies me when I am running, propelling me to gallop more than jog, but that is another story. Peter also has moments where he shows semi-genuine pathos and you…should just watch the fucking show cause it’s awesome to truly understand what I mean.
With Dragon in my head calling me a pussy the next time she came over, I realized that he wasn’t right. In addition to being to my general disliking, I also found her to be quite untalented…sexually. First and foremost, she would do this thing where her face would engulf mine when she would kiss me. I went along with it, but I wasn’t happy about it. A truer harbinger of the apocalypse nary have I seen. I will spare you the details, suffice it to say that if you are not happy when a woman is on her knees for you and Peter Dragon is just watching from above and sympathizing with you, it’s time for a change. It’s a strange paradox: in order to keep HER happy I couldn’t tell her to stop doing what she was doing. So me and the dragon are just standing there, arms folded, shooting the shit, while she continues. Eventually, Things get better and most importantly I am somewhat satisfied.
By now, i am just so happy it’s over that I decide to go outside and smoke a cigarette. At this point, she had no idea that I was a smoker, but I am thinking, MUST REPULSE, MUST REPULSE, MUST REPULSE. She wants to stay over, and I can’t tell her that I would rather sleep alone. So I smoke my cigarette and Peter Dragon and I get a game plan together. I walk back in there, and start talking about my annoying “negro neighbors.” She’s shocked by my callous words as she is all about racial harmony and blah blah blah blah blah blah ,’ and then go on to debate who I think is worse, them…or the MEXICANS? [They’re everywhere] And by the time I am finished with my rant, she is completely convinced that I am a racist.
BUT SHE DOESNT LEAVE. Her indifference is complicity. She’s a horrible racist for not leaving. So this nazi bitch is staying over and she’s hogging the blanket. I GOTTA HAVE MY BLANKET! Eventually, we fooled around some more and I ended up waking us both up at 7:30 AM. As we were preparing to leave, she asked me if I was going to shower, and I responded by telling her that I didn’t give a fuck what my coworkers thought I smelled like and bolted out the door at 7:45. Here’s the kicker, I didn’t have to go to work that day, I just wanted her gone.
In the end, I went to the doctor and got the results of my cholesterol test (my LDLs are better than yours, dingleberry) and I went to Santa Monica and had a bad day drinking.
So what do we take from all this? I am a bad person, yes, established, go tell it on the mountain. But more importantly, is that you don’t have to love the person you’re trying to be with, you just can’t dislike them. There are those types of girls we all know who are really hot and really bitchy, and you just want to wipe that evil-bitch look off their faces by giving them a good rogering, but that doesn’t always equal genuine dislike; sometimes those girls are awesome. So don’t love the one you’re with, just make sure you don’t hate her, cause then you’ll be working on two hours of sleep and acting like a total dingleberry all day. More importantly, face your problems head-on, or else they will fester, and you will get cancer, and you’ll fucking deserve it, because you’re weak, and pathetic, and you let your sexual anxiety get the better of you. So for imaginary Peter Dragon, this is your pal, signing off, going back into the trenches. GOOD HUNTING!





TALKING POINTS

6 04 2008

I am just going to write about random things which I have noticed this week.

1) Kate Bosworth is not attractive. She is way too skinny and while her skeleton may be beautiful, know that those cheek bones are actually bones and not covered by any tissue of any sort. Jeffrey Ross once likened sleeping with Hugh Hefner to fucking a skeleton with wax paper rapped around it. I can imagine the same is true for Bosworth. Don’t get me wrong, I would love to find out, but that doesn’t mean I would enjoy it as much as if there was at least a subcutaneous fat layer. If you’re about 5’2″ and you weigh at least 10 pounds under 100, then you are sick.

2) If you drop out of high school, you should be forced to join the military. The high school dropout rate in LA is something ridiculous like 40% or close to it and when you have no job and not even a high school education, the chances are, my taxes are going to be raised because of you. We spend about $30,000 on each prisoner annually in this country, and we spend about 5K on each orphan we spend billions on an ineffective drug policy. We earmark hundreds of millions of dollars for Alaskan bridges that lead to NOWHERE. Taxes are too low and the cost of dealing with all the other bullshit is too high, if you drop out of high school, you’ll be in prison, on welfare, in need of health care or other financial assistance, and while it’s not their fault, it should be their responsibility.

3) Memphis is really fucking good. Rose is the best player in college, fuck Tyler Hansborough, the kid has willed his team to the final an an already historic season. No team has ever won 38 games – until now – and Rose is the straw that stirs the drink for a very talented team. As the point guard, Rose has the ability to dictate his will and impose his pacing on the opponent. I don’t know of anyone at the college level who just dictates the pace of play. He is a man amongst boys and in the same way that LeBron James is just stronger and faster than everyone else in the NBA, the same could be said of Derrick Rose in a smaller package.
In addition, they have Douglas-Roberts who has pro level ability, two defensive stoppers in Dorsey and Anderson, and with their two-man offense and swarming defense, they can pretty much do whatever they want.

More on this later, I just got really fuckin high and want to enjoy the Hornets Warriors game.