My encounter with defeat

I don't know if it was because we never had a lot of extra money when I was growing up, but I never liked to see food go to waste. I was the token "garbage disposal", and it was cute, until I got fat. I would go far beyond any level of physical comfort or mental cognizance just do my job and make sure no food would go into the trash...because it apparently is more useful soaking into my bloodstream. My logic was flawless.

So, that brings us to present day. One of the reasons I hate going to restaurants is because the size of many of the meals. For example, I was at the local Red Robin the other day, trying to enjoy my dinner. But its hard to focus with all the shenanigans on the wall, the 15-top table of high school punks giggling and being their punky selves to my left, a big fucking red bird walking around, brushing the back of my head with feathers, the crazy buck-toothed man blowing and shaping balloons for the twin 8-year olds bawling their heads off in the corner because the balloon man (presumably a repeat child molester) scares them, the red chaotic colored tables and the all-too predictable overly-enthusiastic, freckle-faced, bombastic teenager of a girl singing "Hi! My name's Kayla! I'll be your server tonight!" (though, not enjoyably).

So now that the surrounding has been painted, we order our food and I think I am going through a panic attack. My face gets hot, I start perspiring and my chest feels like there is an elephant named Pepe (why Pepe, you ask? Well, I have never heard of a Mexican elephant. Have you? Pretty funny, right? Yeah, I thought so too) standing on it. I must spend the next 20 minutes trying to focus, to calm myself down when a burger the size of my head is placed in front of me.

So I started eating. Big bite of burger here, handful of fries there and slurp-slurp of my Roy Rogers to wash it all down. I got 3/4 of the way through the burger and realized my stomach was at maximum capacity. So, Knowing what I know now, I stopped. But I felt weird...like when you know somebody is watching you. I felt a stare. Looked all around. Nobody. But I still felt it. I looked down. There was my burger. I just stared at it for a moment, and I think it winked at me. And then it started laughing.

-Burger: Ha, ha, ha. You can't eat me. You aren't man enough to eat me.
-Me: Shut up, burger. Yes I am.
-Burger: But you will cry because it hurts too bad.
-Me: I will only cry tears of victory!

And so, I finished the wretched burger. Its evil were ingested and dissolved in the region of Stomachton, and its waste was cast permanently away to the underwater land of Toileteria. But in my agonizing pain and indescribable discomfort, I realized something. I have no self control when it comes to delicious food. And, it's something I have to live with. The burger was my spoonful of shut up.

I Remember This One Time...

I remember this one time when I was living in Santa Barbara. A few of my good friends came to visit for the weekend.

This was a night when spirits ran high for my comrades and I. After a wonderful day at the beach and a much needed power nap, we started to pre-party at my house. By the time we made it out to the bars, we were most certainly giddy. So we get to the first place, Madison's, for their token late-night happy hour, $2/well and $4/call.

Out on the patio there is a large group of us, friends from town, friends from out of town, complete strangers...we know how to get a party started. Our friend Craig starts developing an on-the-fly alias. Out of nowhere he was introducing himself as being from Australia. "Ello, mate" is all he said for the next hour. It is the most pathetic accent I have ever heard, and I a not alone.

-Craig: Eeello, mate!
-Girl: You aren't Australian.
-Craig: You ever made love to an Australian, mate?
-Girl: You still aren't Australian.
-Craig: Right you are, I'm Tasmanian!
-Girl: Are you retarded?
-Craig: No, I'm Tasmanian!
-Girl: No you're no---
-Craig: How do you know, mate? You ever been to Tasmania?

As he asked this he lifted his shirt to reveal to her his pierced nipples. She promptly walked away.

On to the next club.

Q's. Q's is a three-story sushi place by day and a club at night (made famous mostly for its 80's night on Tuesdays and its remarkable, pungent odor of vomit, but for some reason, hot girls flocked there). There are five of us dudes and in a packed club, it is hard to keep the pack together. So after some minutes I find myself talking to some girl who buys me a drink (yeah, it happens sometimes). We get to dancing and I am feeling all types of good. I look up and see AJ dancing with some girl. He looks drunk, but happy. Focusing back on the fawn I was dancing with, I heard something shoot through the BOOM, BOOM bumping of the Thriller remix, and it sounds like trouble.

AJ is on the other side of the dance floor and I see a large man of Mexican descent approach him (his face completely void of happiness). I see fingers in faces and I feel the hostility from far away. I don't know how, but in the next instant I am there. I come out of seeming nowhere and pop up behind AJ's shoulder with a, "what's the problem?"
**Note: I had some whiskey ("anger juice") at Madison's. I was feeling a little saucy. ***

-guy: Your friend is the problem. He's gettin' inappropriate with my sister.
-aj: Bro, she started dancing with me.
-guy: Ain't nobody wanna dance with your dumb ass.
-aj: Are you out of your mind? You really are out of your fu#@ing mind! (This was a quote from a Dane Cook skit. It was meant to be funny.)
-guy: I'm gonna knock you out, Brosef.
-aj (smiling): Come on, man. Its Dane Cook.
-guy: Man, F$#K Dane Cook! and F$#k you!

We eventually walked away because, well, he and his friends were ridiculously large. And his sister really wasn't that cute.

That night, Craig wandered off and passed out in a public parking garage. We heard from him the next morning, "eey, mate!"

Short Temper; that's my thing

Before I begin, I want to thank The Mrs and Out of Focus for the superb driving/bird-flipping/maniacal ways of getting from point A to whatever comes next.

I like to think of myself as a generally calm and collected guy. But let's be real. I am not a saunterer. When I walk, I walk with a purpose. I am not one who will throw my arms to gain momentum like speed skaters, but if you are out for an afternoon stroll, GTFO. I have somewhere I need to be and I don't want to deal with your pathetic meandering. The only time you should be walking that leisurely is if you physically don't have the capacity to move that fast. In such a case, drop the crutches and get a motorized wheelchair.

Driving is very much the same. If you fail to proceed through a controversial yellow light, expect a few honks. If I am behind you at a stoplight and see you on your phone while the light turns green and you just sit there, expect a long angry honk meddled with a beautifully formed middle, left hand finger and a blatant strand of [often unintelligible] profanities.

Where does this all stem from? Well I was driving to work today and decided to stop at the post office to buy a stamp and mail a letter. Even though the yield sign was for people opposite my lane, the jackass on his phone in front of me sat there, yielding and WAVING people through for the other lane! So I see this and start honking. As he looks in his rear view mirror I see his cell phone tucked between his chin and shoulder, and he throws his arms up like, "what the hell" style. I smile, roll down my window and yell, "You have the right-of-way, dumbass!" I take my middle finger, which was firmly vertically erected at that point, and use it to point at the backside of the yield sign.

So we pull in, and of course the only two spots open are right next to each other. I get out of my car. He's still on the phone. He looks at me and I reciprocate with a stare so dumbfounding, so demeaning, so outwardly disappointed that I think I saw a tear slide down his cheek just before he turned to look away.

I left. Already pumped up from the morning's activities, I decide to go to Satan's Crotch (AKA Wal Mart ). Trying to hold my breath to ward off the pungent aroma of stale french fries and week-old body odor, I give the token 84-year-old Welcome Man a tear-eyed smile and fought to clear the stench. For the record, I'm convinced that the only thing missing in the entrances of Wal Marts is a baby diaper changing station. That is THE missing link to make people jump from thinking-about-vomiting to all-out yak-factory. But anyhoo, I am a pen fanatic. Very weird about my pens. Almost like each one has its own personality...more on that at some other time. So I try to get to the pen aisle, as Wal Mart is the only place in town that carries a certain refill. Low and behold, families - some numbering in the dozens - in wheelchairs and cutoff tee shirts alike blanket the aisles. There is no getting around masses like these. So I tried to weave in and out of the children's clothing racks, ducking left and dodging right, and just when I see the opening to the aisle, squuuish. I look down to find my foot taken prisoner by a mutilated cheeseburger smothered in ketchup. [Profanity]!!!

Finally I make it to the pen aisle. Its not there. My f#@*%ng refill isn't there. All that boot camp bull crap for an anticlimax. Stupid cheeseburger.

Anyway, I made it to work and continued to hate life. The end.

Destined to be with an older woman

The title says it all. But let me explain.

I tend to be attracted to women who are older than I. I always have. I remember being 21 and dating a 26-year-old, and thought it was fantastic. Granted, being 21 I wasn't fully aware of my true life desires, and predictably screwed that relationship right up. Anyhoo, I think it stems from a couple different reasons.

Young girls (as defined here, 18-21 years of age) seem to me immature. If any of you know anything about me, I'm sure you just gasped. I know I'm not always the wisest person in the world. I don't have a steady career and family. Yeah, I still like Fruity Pebbles. What of it? But let's be real. Girls of this said age range want somebody more mature than they (so they think at the time). So, to me, these games never really seemed worth it. I never really found (back in my younger days, of course) somebody worth the time it takes to convince them they like me. But even as a readied young man, I often confused sex with love. Stupid. Like that saying, "If only I knew then what I know now", I would probably be a walking STD. Thankfully, I'm not.

More importantly, I found that these girls didn't know who they wanted or what they were really looking for. And that shit annoys me. So, I think I look to older women for the same reason girls look to older men. Knowledge. Experience. Wisdom. Its all there and extremely attractive.. Side Note: I found it interesting that a blogging friend managed to write about this the other day, on her blog. Check it out. Anyhow, my weekend story:

At the increasingly regular watering hole, Saturday night. I am with AJ. The place is crowded, we order a pitcher and find an empty table in the corner surrounded by a sea of people. Kindly, they allow us use of the table. There are two men and three women. One of the guys is about 6'1" and 245 pounds of muscle. I later find out that he is training to be a cop. The other guy is nothing special, looks like a poor man's Ethan Hawk. One woman is so plain I don't remember her; I just know she is there. There is a blond girl, very attractive, maybe 27 or so. Then there is a woman. Unattractive. Very. They are all playing darts and the unattractive woman comes to us repeatedly to talk. We initiate no conversation whatsoever. For the sake of absurd length, I will condense all mini conversations into one paraphrase. It is as follows:

(crazy): What are you guys doin here in the corner? You're hot. All these girls should be fucking you right now.
(me): Yeah they should. Why don't you go spread the word.
(crazy): Hahaha. You're funny. There are a lot of little hottie ho-bags in here. Why don't you go talk to some?
(me): We just got here and want to enjoy our beer for a minute.
(crazy): Ohhhweee! The beer is kickin in! Goddamn, you ever been with an Oakland girl before? I only have three rules for a man: have a job, have their own place and teeth. I like teeth.
(me): Absolutely not. (Becoming more afraid I am going to get raped) And I live with my mother. I collect unemployment.
(crazy): Well that's okay. You are young enough to get around my rules. (Before I got the chance to completely ignore her, she continued) I'll probably never see you again, so I'm just gonna tell it to ya--
***Note: I have seen, heard and said some very vulgar things in my life. But never have I had somebody be so direct. Call me shallow, but if I was attracted to this person it would still be awkward, but marginally more entertaining.***
---These little hussies don't know how to fuck. Nope. Not a one'em. Me, I like it in the a$$...I like to be spanked hard, slapped around (my stomach starts churning), and if you ask me, the best taste in the world is a nice mouthful of cum (I nearly escape a violent bout of projectile vomit from the way her hands motioned each of these thigs , and in her profile, a hairy upper lip). The way it just drips down your throat, so salty, its just delicious.

I am scarred for life. I like older women, but that just really fucked me up. A nappy-haired 42 year old talking this explicitly, with her voice well above the crowd's managed to get everybody on that side of the bar church quiet while she screamed her most intimate desires.

Before she left she said, "You guys should come to the casino with me. I'll show you what I meant." I responded, "Sorry, I don't gamble. Rule #1."

Almighty Valentine's Day

It hath fallen upon us once more. Perhaps the most controversial of holidays in these states united. Valentine's Day is like a political controversy; there are those for it and those that oppose. The reasons on each side are similar but vary with minor differences.

The antagonists assert that the holiday is overly commercialized and without true meaning; they don't like to abide by the social expectations made popular by the abundance of greeting cards, designer chocolates, flower vendors, and the most hated, diamond jewelers.

The Protagonists are flattered when asked to be part of this ritualistic evening. They expect flowers, cute cards and most likely a romantic dinner. Most of these people are (in my experience and blatant observation) are females. Granted, not every woman feels this way about V-Day, but let's be real, a lot more women prefer the day than men do. Why?

Well, women love to feel loved, to feel beautiful. And as they rightfully should. Men, though generally disagreeing with the reasons for such a holiday realize a different side of the equation. If all conditions previously set forth have been followed and executed with great care and concern, then the man can relax. Because nothing short of him being arrested on several charges of murder can stop him from "gettin' his".

That's right. Men play along with this game to capture the poon, quench their sexual thirst and satisfy every primal hunger. I think women know this going into the evening, which is why the care and concern is so important. So ladies and gentlemen, please play your parts responsibly.

But let us take into account those of us who have no set Valentine date. What do we do? We are usually the most bitter, holiday-hating, whiskey-chugging group out there. Loneliness is a terrible thing. Which is why I consider myself a genius. A very sexy genius. I am going to the bar. Yup. Alone. Because all of the girls who don't have somebody to make them feel beautiful will [theoretically] be there. Why? Because being drunk and alone is way better when everybody else you know is with somebody. Plus, they'll be drunk. Who's to say what comes of that? And if by chance this chauvinistic idea fails me, i will be home, alone, and probably be doing the only thing you really can do when you are alone and horny...but let's hope that doesn't happen.

Jeff Goldblum Ruined/Made My Dream

What a night. It was one of those ones spent tossing and turning, where every frog's croak and jingle of a wind chime seemed to bring me to a level of alertness previously foreign to me. At some point though I did find some tranquility in a haphazard slumber. I woke up this morning saying to myself, Jeff Goldblum. Not the best of ways to start one's day.

I distinctly remember immediately before my awakening I had a dream. This dream had nothing to do with tables of brotherhood or social equality. No. This dream was far more complex. Like a symphony of madness and chaos, my inner workings began to compose an awkward and frightening score. So here it is, the dream:

I am walking down the street with two friends, Aaron and another nameless faceless dream friend. It is not a familiar street, but like one of those generic streets they use in the movies in London, with the lamp posts and a mild fog and whatnot, and we are laughing merrily. Women smile as we pass (this is obviously a dream) and things seem well. Until we encounter a building with its door open and three other men sitting outside it. Our path calls for us to turn left down another road, but I recognize one of the men by the door.

I walk up and lo and behold, it is Jon Stewart. Daily Show Jon Stewart. In the flesh. One of the other men sitting down is in fact Conan O'Brien. I immediately go nuts and start talking to them. Aaron and my other friend stand at a distance, seemingly unamused at my encounter, which is weird because I know Aaron loves those guys. Anyhow, the weirder part is that I keep calling Jon Stewart, Jeff Goldblum. Yeah, the Jurassic Park man. But even weirder, is Jon Stewart doesn't even mind! He just orders us all another shot (where this bar is, I don't know, but the drinks show up out of nowhere) and he tells some drunken stories and jokes. I yell to my friends to come meet Jeff Goldblum and Conan O'Brien, and they say to me, "We already did".

How in the sam Hell did they already meet them? And why am I dreaming about this? I could understand Jon Stewart and Conan, as I watched an episode of the Daily Show earlier and it was addressing the tension between the two. But Jeff Goldblum, what? I thought he was dead. Might as well be. The only time anybody refers to him is in my crazy dream. Then I woke up. No restitution. Nothing. The questions are permanent and the answers are the wind, always present but never discernible (I just made that up. God, I am talented). I can't tell if Jeff Goldblum ruined or bettered my dream. Either way, it's creepy.

My New Blog

So I have a goal. I want to lose some weight by March 25th. I am going to New York and don't want to spend a week as a whale in a new state. That said, I started a blog to help me track my progress. The title is genius, Mission: Get Hot. I encourage you to check it out and hit me with your harshest criticisms. It has only been two weeks since I started officially recording info, but in the last 4 weeks I have lost about 8 pounds. I want to lose more. So go ahead and check it out. Hit me hard. If you are in the same boat as I, let me know and I will add you as an author so you too can post your progress. I want to make my blogs community blogs. Whaddya say?

Badass Movie of All Time

As I sit here on a Saturday evening, watching the Encore special premier of "Under Seige 2: Dark Territory", I have become reminded of one of the most brilliant ideas my sporadically genius mind has ever entertained. I have prepared the ingredients to concoct the most sensational badass movie of all time.

1 part Chuck Norris (good start)
1 part Steven Seagal
Mix together for 1 Lifetime of never-ending action-packed thrill.

I think my work as a writer has finally panned out. I want it to be universally known, that if somebody other than myself produces or says they created this very scenario, or any derivation thereof, will face the most drastic of charges including, but not limited to:
-wet willies
-involuntary pubic eradication
-unnecessary doses of laxatives
-repetitive urinating on your car door handle
-a prank phone call by the last girl you slept with telling you she is prego. If you are a woman and last slept with a man, he will alert you to the newest string of Herpes he has contracted and, likely, passed along to you

So, I think it best to credit me for this amazing idea if anybody does by chance happen to run with it before I get the opportunity.

Also, on a lighter note, Katherine Heigl is in this movie, and is between 17 and 18 years old at the time of its release. Even then, she was hot. Now, of course, she is amazingly attractive, and it is only a matter of time before I attempt to confess my love for her, which I'm sure will not go unanswered by her assuredly large bodyguards that will most likely break many of my bones. After repeat encounters, numerous letters and emails later I'm sure my persistence will get the best of her and we will make very pretty babies. Very pretty.