Tuesday, December 2, 2008

Happy Stuff-Before-End-of-Year

The puget sound is cold, and is not worth jumping in after plentiful amounts of wine.

The rainy-ish season is upon us, which means spending hours looking outside a window trying to correctly guess not only the type of precipitation, but whether or not it's really the spray from a homeless guy taking a leak somewhere.

My balls aren't very talented. They just hang there.

It is hard to incorporate umbrellas and Air Supply CD's in foreplay.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

A Haphazard Sense of Wisdom

For some reason, I've been deluged (again) of late by sort-of-friends and past acquaintances about their perceived shitty lives, and the current state of depression they may be in. Depression is a serious thing, but the word gets thrown around a lot. If you get laid and feel better the next morning, you were not depressed. If you stop crying once you leave the Dashboard Confessional concert, you are not depressed. Simply being a mopey son-of-a-bitch does not equal depression. It means you're a mopey son-of-a-bitch.

My advice has always been simple, since I've only found the light in the past year or so. Know yourself. The "meaning of life", nirvana, and whatever hot air philosophical jargon you'd want to use, comes down to identifying within yourself what exactly, above all other things, you should be doing. More importantly, it's not just knowing what it is, but why.

It's not fate; you define it for yourself. If someone asks you "what this thing is" that either drives you or acts a prism which you view all of life through, you should be able to tell them, yet it's not your prerogative to make sure they understand it. It's your voice, it's your "thing". Fuck anybody else who questions it.

The crux of all of this is understanding the why. I can ask any asshole off the street what they do for a living, for instance. Many don't know why they do it. They may shrug and say "it pays well", or "I like it"...but the simple fact they shrugged first tells me they have no fucking clue. There's nothing wrong with that; some people live their lives without thinking about these things. However, if you're feeling depressed, and you can't identify why you chose your line of work (again, for instance, life is more than fucking employment) without a shrug and quick look to the heavens...well, I found one of your answers.

98% of the people I've met who are "depressed" (sometimes their own diagnosis which I question) are so, in my opinion, because they just don't know why the fuck they do things. They're bound by social constructs fueled by their own insecurities, which tell them to do things because, well, "someone" (often greater society) else thinks they should.

Trust me, your relationship dissolving is not the root of the problem. Staring into space while at work because it's sucking the soul of out of you is not the root of the problem. Monetary problems can exacerbate the issue, but again are not the root.

The root of the problem is the fact you don't know who you are, and I suggest you find out quickly.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

What on Earth....

I rec'd a "break-up" email from a girl the other day, and while you may think I was rather shocked, hurt, and possibly on the verge of making a late night trip the apothecary, there's one piece of information that should be divulged.

I had not talked to the girl in about a month. Yep. No communication in a month. 30 days. No talking. Nothing. For a month. Nothing. 30 days. Nothing.

Now, what kind of girl would send communique desiring an "end" when as far as I was concerned, an "end" had already reached? The answer; I don't know.

But, I found it hilarious. I replied with a slightly longer equivalent of an "LOL WHUT", expecting it to mildly infuriate her, or at least demonstrate the amount of shit I give towards caring about the entire situation is hovering around zero, and surprisingly she replied pretty quickly, blabbering in incoherent girl-speak about "wanting to clear the air".

30 days. A month. No talking. A month. No talking. 30 days. And somehow, air needed to be cleared.

Women; a gender full of air cleaners, apparently.

Friday, October 31, 2008

Breaking Into This Society

I've already said to a certain degree that the infamous "Seattle Freeze" is mostly bullshit. A large amount of people who move into this area do so for jobs in IT, and the large majority of those people, let's face it, are not the most gregarious and outgoing in the first place. When faced with the reality that most people here, while nice, don't roll out the red carpet into their social circle upon first meeting you as the newcomer, then many of these new people, who are not used to exerting much effort into making friends outside of their own network, throw their hands up in the air and consider Seattleites as a whole a bunch of closed-off assholes.

That said, since my job is in sales, I've encountered a lot of people also new to the area who need to "network" with those w/in this society for the sake of their employment, which is a similar yet still different nut to crack entirely. Admittedly while performing the duties of my own job, I've come across this as well, but it's not the end of the world.

The fact of the matter is Seattle is not New York, Boston, Los Angeles, Chicago...[enter virtually any large metropolitan area] in two giant areas; it does not have a large, cherished history of attracting professionals from "the outside", and its location is fairly remote as the unquestioned population and economic center of the still largely undeveloped and unurbanized Pacific Northwest.

Before the boom of Microsoft and its ilk, it was essentially a giant fishing and industrial town staffed by lost Northern Europeans and Asian immigrants. If you came to the area, you were like my Dad; you were in the military, got stationed here, and left once your commitment was up or you were transferred. All the other major cities on the east coast had long begun their economic transistion before a certain campus was built in Redmond. While the overall growth of the area here was pretty rapid (and wages here are good), there is a reason why "the grunge" movement started here, and no not because it rains a lot and drugs are plentiful; the economy, for a long time, sucked.

For years, Seattle was just the lone decently-sized city, nowhere near anywhere else in particular of note (Portland, OR is not a major city, and doesn't even compare to Seattle both in overall size and economic importance). It's isolation I'm sure brewed a sense of "Us vs. Them" that still fosters, particularly among the older population today. 15-20 years of young professionals graduating college to work for tech companies (engineering positions at Boeing being the only other draw for outsiders for fucking years and years) in the area is simply not enough time for a true Seattleite to accept and understand that Seattle is now something different. Couple that with now various multinational companies opening regional offices which now represent various industries (keep in mind, I moved here and I'm not in IT), literally overnight in comparison to the path most cities in the United States have taken, the city has changed remarkably. From strictly a social standpoint among the "old money" and the official "Seattle elite", probably too fast.

New York has been attracting people from all over for centuries. Damn near every other big city (particularly on the east coast) has been doing for several decades. Many of the skyscrapers you see in other cities were built 50 years ago and even further back. Most of Seattle's skyline was built after 1970. Seattle seriously has been doing it (and at a breakneck pace) for...what, three decades? Maybe four? People born and raised here have seen the transformation and can't help but want to keep those they've known for years at their side, while casting suspicion at newcomers because, well, "they don't really know Seattle".

Is it fair? Not really, but climbing up their ass about it isn't either. Respect the fact that this city has seen an economic rise (and social change) over the past few decades, that more and more people means more and more construction and development and less easily accessible nature and space, and it will take a considerable amount of time before "Us vs Them" simply becomes "Us."

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Manliness

My Dad always told me a lot of things; most of which were never terribly important to me because he was perhaps already half in the bag when he uttered the words, or I was too busy staring at the ceiling. If I actually had a viable distraction at my disposal, say the TV or a hot girl within reasonable distance, then it wouldn't even register to me that my own father was talking. For a military man who owns a lot of guns, he doesn't always command a shitload of respect.

One thing though that fell out of his mouth that formed a coherent, rational thought which I also picked up and retained for myself was his opinion on being a "man". It surprisingly has nothing to do with a penis; whether it's the length, girth, or the amount of tricks it can do. The definition has nothing to do with women; the number you've been with, the quality thereof, or the tricks they can do (although I would consider the boyfriend of a girl who can do DP while baking cookies and writing Shakespearian soliloquies with her foot to be a "man". He would receive an honorary Man Express Gold card, with 50,000 free Man Express Reward points.)

It also had little do with one's job, one's hobbies, their social life, their goals...it all came down to simply owning up to your mistakes. If you fuck up, and I mean FUCK UP, and look people in the eye, particularly the ones most affected by your fucked up-ness, and tell them, "my fuck up", then you are in fact a man (as well as one who swears too much. 3,000 point Man Express Reward bonus).

I write this because in the past couple days I've found it staggering just how few "men" fail at being, well, "men" (-15,000 Man Express point automatic reduction for every offense). I'm not going to sandbag this individual anymore on the internet (not manly, potential loss of Man Express points, and I would feel kinda bad), but I made a fair amount effort on my part to understand this particular "fake" man, and to see where he was coming from, and I walked away feeling more upset and frustrated that this so-called "man" was being...a bitch (I win 2,000 Man Reward points for the insult, but also penalized -25,000 points for killing this joke entirely). I hate bitches, by the way.

My point? Tell shit like it is. You got a problem? Diagnose it. Find the root, and if it's yourself, which it will be A LOT in life, then say so. Pansy.

Now pardon me while I redeem whatever Man Reward points I have left. I think I have a free flight to Cancun...no, wait...Camden. Shit. Off to fuck bitches and start fights to increase my points.

Sunday, October 5, 2008

Romantic Horseshit 101

Some relationship articles aren't dumb at all, just overly cutesy like this one. The fact people get paid to write this shit is beyond me. Anyways, there's a few opening paragraphs which provide enough insight to make the average Us Weekly article read like fucking Carl Sagan, and then it spews cow patties about asking yourself questions. Perhaps out loud. On an Amtrak. Naked.

"The marriage question
Have you been fantasising about your wedding day since you were a child? Or would you be just as happy having some other sort of commitment such as a mortgage with your partner?"


Well this is tough, because I see so many people during the course of my day where from mere appearances, I think to myself, "I'd love to have a joint checking account with this individual. They look so responsible". Lord knows, I once dated a girl because I just knew she'd be perfect to put money down with towards buying a Prius together. She dumped me when the word "Prius" came out of my mouth.

"The future question
Do you have visions of growing old and grey with your partner? Or are you more of a serial monogamist, who's happy to have a few good years with someone before moving on to the next relationship?"

Generally, I try to refrain from picturing my dates as older, saggier tittied versions of themselves. Particularly when fucking them.

"The kids question
Is the tick from your biological clock deafening you? Or does the thought of snotty little brats fill you with dread? What do you think about a relationship involving children from a previous marriage or relationship?"

The thought of snotty little brats waking me up in the middle of the night, poking me with hot embers and telling me I'm their father would fill me with a lot of dread, come to think of it.

"The best friend question
Do you want your partner to be your best friend, or is there someone else in your life that your partner will never compete with when it comes to being a best friend?"


No, in fact I'd like the love of my life to be worst enemy. We'd be adversaries, sleeping with each other, owning a house and perhaps raising children together, and all the while plotting to kill each other. Only we won't, end up living until our 70's or 80's and spending the rest of eternity up in "assassin heaven" pissed off at ourselves for missing our chance.

"The details question
Is it necessary for you to hear about every little incident and thought your partner has day in, day out? Or do you prefer to have some emotional space, preferring to hear only the Reader's Digest version of what your partner’s been up to?"

I interpret this as the "are you a jealous fuck?" question. I interpret my interpretation of the question to be correct. I interpret my answer to be "no, I don't need to know every little thing she does." Except the "I got drunk that night with Wendy from work and had the entire Accounting Department run the train on me." This would be a minor detail worth knowing.

"The (in)dependence question
Are you looking for someone to do absolutely everything with, from your home life to your hobbies? Or are you happy with spending time being independent as well as together? "


The couples who literally do everything together are really cute at first, and then begin to creep you out when you notice they laugh at their own jokes the exact same way, cut their steak into the same size bites, seem to have the exact same opinion on the acting abilities of a pre-1987 Steve Martin...and then, a couple years later, when you're still "single" and they're still together, you grow a festering hatred for them and consider the possibilities of setting their house on fire. Even when you do, they'll still piss you off when they run out of the house at the exact same time, screaming the exact same thing.

"The sex question

Are you prepared to be in a relationship where the sex is so-so if every other aspect of the relationship is excellent? Perhaps sex is the most crucial aspect of your relationship? Identifying this up-front can help you choose more suitable partners. "


Personally, the sex with me isn't that important. It really comes down to how well the bitch cooks meatloaf. My mom, bless her heart, makes GREAT meatloaf. Almost everyone else I know takes a lump of buffalo shit out of the oven that has the consistency of drywall and still have the nerve to actually call it meatloaf. Fuck that.

"A perfect ending
'I am deliriously happy. Being what some refer to as middle-aged, I was tentative about Internet dating. I had concluded that it was only for twenty-somethings after seeing the TV ads! I decided I had nothing to lose though and went ahead anyway. Within a week I was contacted by the wonderful man who has become the love of my life! We agreed to meet for coffee. We just walked, talked, dined and gazed into each others' eyes all along Melbourne's Southbank. Now, eight months later, we are planning to spend the rest of our lives together. I still cannot believe how quick it was to find that special someone.' Heather, Geelong, VA. "


Well, apparently all it takes to swoon middle-aged Heather is to take her out for coffee and stare at her. If this is all it takes to score poon from internet dating...




Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Smoke Signals

On Saturday night, I was approached by a guy and a girl who both pointed to my shoes and asked where I got them. I informed them, and they kindly offered a smoke in return. Being a "social" smoker of cigs, I said "sure, wth..."

For about...fuck, probably around 60 minutes, the three of us blow through about half a pack, discussing everything from the royal fuck up known as the Seattle Mariners, to the state of fashion in Romania (seriously, and no, I don't remember our consensus).

Afterwards, we went back inside, and more or less dispatched ourselves to wherever our own friends were inside, without another word exchanged between us. That's when it hit me; I'm used to people whom I just met, if they end up spending as much time with me as those two did, asking for my cell number or some method of contact. I think the "Seattle Freeze" is 60%-80% bullshit (and that is being generous), but this particular example of mine is a good indicator that out here, you often have to make the move yourself to initiate the "hey, let's be friends!!!" banter.

Unless they want to fuck you, of course. That would be a different subject altogether.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

The Big Kids' Table

There's a hot debate (link goes to the comments section) going on over in one of my favorite blogs over...hot-air semantics, really. Good honest arguments are all being made, but this exchange in particular I find strange:

"DPU: That would be an accurate comparison if al Qaeda had conquered Iraq rather being a non-entity there prior to the invasion.

You don't seem to understand what I'm saying.

The US has fought more than one war in Iraq since 2003.

Let me put it this way. The war against Saddam in Iraq was a war of choice and arguably a distraction.

The war against Al Qaeda (etc.) in Iraq was not a war of choice and was not a distraction.

My parents, for example, opposed the war against Saddam in Iraq but support the war against Al Qaeda in Iraq. Others, like Andrew Sullivan, supported the war against Saddam in Iraq and oppose the war against Al Qaeda in Iraq. All tehse (sic) people correctly view the wars as separate. You should, too, if you want to understand my point."


I agree the "battles" being fought from the initial invasion in 2003 up until Saddam's capture (and to be fair, that should probably be bumped up to sometime during the beginning phases of the new Iraqi Government) is light years different than what has been waged over the past couple years. But, the Bush Administration used Al Qaeda (partially) as the bait to gain support for a war to uproot Saddam, and had to know that Al Qaeda would eventually (though not prior to) become a factor at some point during our adventure. Strategies have changed, troops have been moved around, but this was part of the plan, make no mistake. Flypaper strategy, motherfuckers. This is all the same war; different phase yes, but the same war. When getting cute to make a simple point by declaring this an entirely different military intervention, you cloud the entire purpose of the event itself defined by those who created it.

There's no way when looking at now-unemployed Donald Rumsfeld's smirk that this was only about Saddam. No. Fucking. Way.



Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Why Girls Are Retarded, Part 4,223-B

I'm with a group of dudes. We enter a known upscale meatmarket with unreasonably overpriced food and drinks and a really hot waitstaff (Joey's if you must know. There's three in the Seattle area, and while the food kinda sucks and five drinks later you've almost blown through your commission, I'm not kidding about the waitstaff). We take a seat, order a round of drinks, and two decent but not knock-your-socks-off-looking girls take it upon themselves to squeeze in our booth.

The two of them at first completely ignore me, and then one decides to scoot my way with an "are you from here?" line, complete with a VERY HARD question mark at the end, as if I have three heads with a velvet penis protruding from each possibly indicating that I am in fact not from this area. Or earth, even.

I give her my standard I-moved-here-from-Boston babble, leaving out some of the normal details since this girl has her hand firmly planted on the thigh of one of my friends while talking to me, and I figure at any moment she'll return to giving him most of the attention. We end up having a pleasant, if somewhat banal, conversation (her hand at no point during this moving off of my friend's leg) and then she turns away, and I assume said conversation over. I finish off my first drink, consider my options for a second, and then she turns back toward me with:

"Are girls hot in Boston?"

How the fuck do you answer this? Ignore the fact that I'm a single guy, and a mildly attractive girl not from Boston just asked me this. I could be Estelle Getty and Bea Arthur is asking me this...HOW?

"Um, well...yeah, there's a lot of 'hot' girls in Boston."

"How about in Seattle?" she fired back.

"Well, yeah, I've seen some attractive girls here too." I couldn't help myself so I further responded "quite frankly, everywhere I've been, I've seen some hot girls and some ugly ones, and I'm sorry I haven't been keeping track of solid data, complete with an entire powerpoint presentation for you".

"But I mean, like...(pauses)...generally speaking...Boston or Seattle?"

I stared for a minute, grabbed a napkin and a pen from the bar, and drew a line with two points at the end. "This here is Seattle, this over here is Boston. This line is I-90, which connects the two, and is about a four/five day drive. Try it sometime".

She giggled (not my desired response. I was hoping for her to perhaps cry and leave, finish her drink and pass out...perhaps burst into flames, I didn't really care at this point) and said something to the effect of "don't be shy. I won't be offended if you say Boston girls are cuter".

I slammed down my second drink which had only just arrived seconds before, swallowed hard, took a deep breath and said simply "Neither. Gary, Indiana. I love crackwhores." I then left my seat, texted a buddy, bummed a cig off a stranger, struck up a conversation with said stranger, struck up several conversations with more strangers who came up to us...eventually made it back inside to see my friends were ready to leave with annoying dumb girl walking by me, asking (and by this point she's absolutely shitfaced, which is a fucking scientific marvel in of itself because she was perfectly fine only a half hour or so earlier):

"Would I be *hic* hot in Gary, Indiana?"

No.







Thursday, September 11, 2008

A Really Long Entry That I Expect You To Read Anyway

One night stands. They happen. I also didn't think they were really needing some jackoff to make a list of how to, well, "do them". Apparently I was wrong. First, enjoy

Now let's break this down using Jon-think

1. ALWAYS have Condoms with you
-Well, um...if an adult who goes out in public every now and then needs to be told this...God help him/her.

2. Do NOT give them your phone number
-Again, kind of obvious given the nature of a true "one-night stand", however I love the implication that if you actually like the person enough to give out your phone number you are doing something heinously wrong and should ask your pastor for forgiveness. That, and people apparently becomes stalkers like it rains in Seattle. "OH, I have Jon's cell number! Even though he was only average in bed and average looking, I'm gonna call him 400 times next week! He'll wish he'll NEVER have given me his cell!!!!!!"

3. They MUST be a stranger
- Yes, because in the history of mankind, two friends have never had sex and been able to maintain that friendship and understand what that "one night" really meant. Ever. Shakespeare wrote plays about this every day of his life.

4. Do NOT be drunk
- Congratulations on now telling every single human being on the planet they've been doing this wrong. Does this asshole run around also saying the sky is really brown?

5. Do NOT go to your place

- Yes, because if you really want to fuck and the other person's place is too far away to realistically go there, you should go at it behind a dumpster. Or in the city park next to seven hobos. Why? Because having sex with someone in your own bedroom is just so dangerous and should never be attempted.

6. Do NOT use your car
-As an adult I'm willing to get a hotel room for the night if the only viable alternative is a fucking automobile. Also, apparently using a stranger's car is better than yours.

7. Do NOT eat anything weird before
-Because there are plenty of things in life where eating something completely fucking strange and bizzare is actually preferred. Like a job interview. Eat squirrel balls and watch the Golden Girls naked before that.

8. Do NOT fall asleep
-Implication being if it's your SO, begin snoozing immediately after foreplay. It'd be like you're already married!

9. Do NOT leave any tracks
-Yes, because there was that one time I accidently left a sock at this girl's place, and the police tracked me down and I was extradited to Singapore where I was caned daily for three years. Don't ever do this.

10. Do NOT kiss them when you leave
-Mushroom stamp her instead in order to proclaim dominance. Take a shit in her laundry basket. Recite the Gettysburg Address backwards in your best Don Rickles voice while masturbating on a toaster strudel. Anything besides kissing her before you leave.




Monday, August 25, 2008

A Rare Serious Thought

FWIW, one of the most powerful and inspiring moments one has in their life is the realization that despite what one has gone through in their past, and perhaps how much they have previously let their own history define them, the only constant variable which can determine their future is themselves. We all have our demons, and I don't care to describe my own in full detail here, but they exist in part due to our natural inability to fully let them go. As painful as they usually are, they helped create the form we appear in today, and subconsciously humans have a very hard time erasing the "bad".

A guy I know through work, usually a semi-annoying douchetard who seems more capable of wielding half-assed stories about drinking and debauchery as opposed to fulfilling the duties of his actual job (which admittedly are not particularly vast; he's a sales guy like me). During a rare "tender" moment, semi-annoying douchetard let down his douche-guard and mentioned, in surprisingly vivid detail and in a very frank manner, that he was previously married and has a six year old son which is ex-wife has full custody of. The jist of his story; he fucked up, and lost his kid and the love of his life because of it.

Without going on and on over the specs in this case, his "fucking up" was very much along the lines of most young, married guys fucking up, and the fact someone as generally cocky and...um...(can't use the d-word again...shit help me here)...(fuck)..."douchetastic" as him can openly admit that to someone he only casually knows through work is pretty impressive. More importantly, it shows how heavily this weighs on him, and it's obvious that for perhaps the rest of his life, I was informed of what is his own individual cross to bear.

Not having experienced anything like that myself, I was unsurprisingly at the proverbial loss of words, and more than likely emitted a series of stuttering sounds in yet another glowing display of my unparalled intelligence. The point of this however, is that this example, including many others I've experienced over time, is to again illustrate we all have our "shit" we internally battle ourselves over, and quite often pick unhealthy (though usually not life-endangering by any means) and just fucking stupid ways to overcome them. The sales guy I know through work in this particular example became even more of a "frat boy alcoholic who happens to get a paycheck" to combat the one or two nights years before where a nicer, calmer version of him acted this way and essentially ruined that life he was previously living thanks to a couple of mistakes that this behavior helped create.

Lord knows I still have my "shit" hanging over me, but I hit the point fairly recently where at least I realized from this point on, letting history dictate my every move and using that as a crutch for future failures is not only retarded, but would serve as a general disservice to everyone in my life whom I either failed, or to those who I potentially could in the future. Your own mind, body and soul come first, but if for some reason that's not enough, think of the loved ones who you could possibly drag down with you. If that fails to provide enough motivation to at least help change the course, then you're in deeper than you thought.


Wednesday, August 20, 2008

What Medal Count?

I've noticed I'm not really giving a shit about the Olympics. Does this make me a bad person?

Oh, and I have caught bits and pieces of it...enough in fact, that if one more assfuck on NBC refers to the fucking smog in Beijing (which everyone knows pollution-wise, makes LA look as clear and pristine as the top of Mt Everest) as "fog", I'm going to commit a hate crime.

Sunday, August 3, 2008

It's Okay to OD in BC

So I took a quick jaunt up to Vancouver Saturday night...

Sweet, holy motherfucking Christ.

In short, I didn't drink/smoke all that much (I drove up there and had to drive occasionally throughout the night), however everyone else around me sure did. The friend I was visiting was already half in the bag by the time I passed border patrol so he was utterly fucking useless as this was a strange city to me.

Nevertheless, I followed him around on a tour of complete mayhem that lasted well into the morning hours. Some highlights include; an Asian man in his mid-30's threatening to kick my ass if I didn't drop acid with him, three giggling girls who barely looked 18 following me around for the better part of an hour asking for my autograph (I couldn't even figure out what celebrity they were mistaking me for), a few different "clothes optional" after-parties, and me helping my friend's now-unconscious female roommate up the stairs and into her bedroom, and then immediately tripping and falling down the stairs myself (while actually more sober than anything).

All in all, an okay Saturday night.


Tuesday, July 29, 2008

What Happens in Memphis...Gets Re-told Here

Nothing groundbreaking took place over the past few days, but a quick chat with an old friend Monday night brought back one of my all-time most “WTF?” memories.

Almost two full years ago now, I went to Memphis for a full week on business. In truth, to say “on business” feels to me like utter bullshit since it was essentially a week-long conference in which I was really only required to pretend I was paying attention for about six hours a day before being turned loose. Most days after each conference session became their own “how much can we drink and yet still be able to find the hotel afterward” sessions, and between the beer and the barbecue I actually came back home and weighed six more pounds according the scale.

That said, there was one evening where something else happened entirely.
On Wednesday (third day of the actual conference), things ran a little long. A presenter was late, another group actually attending the conference somehow got lost after lunch (which was catered at the hotel; explain that one)…point is, we got out that day a full two hours later than usual. The group of guys I had and would continue to go out and party with asked my preferred plans for the night, to which I replied “I don’t know, but I’ll catch up with you later. I need a quick nap.”

Well, the quick nap turned into a four hour snoozer, where I woke up in my now dark hotel room feeling as if Elvis himself had placed a visit and beat the shit out of me. I tossed and turned for a little while, hoping I’d either fall asleep or die, but in the process I accidently rolled over the remote which turned on the TV, and because the asshole who previously watched it (quite possibly myself) had the volume up apparently for Helen Keller, I ended up scaring the living shit out of myself and sprung up out of bed with all the eloquence and grace of a retarded rhino.

Now awake, obviously, I grabbed my phone and headed down to the main lobby with every intention of calling one of my “conference boys” to meet up with them at whatever (hopefully close-by) drinking establishment they were currently at. However, upon arriving near the front desk and in full view of the all-glass main entrance, I noticed the ever-familiar lights of an ambulance. I darted outside, letting curiosity get the best out of me, and was surprised not at the sight of the ambulance truck itself, but of the two male EMTs laughing their asses off while leaning up against the side of the building.

“Is…everything…okay?” I uttered, still groggy and somewhat achy from the possible assault by the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll himself just hours ago.

The laughing continued, as I wasn’t sure they even acknowledged my presence for what seemed like another five minutes. Eventually the one closest to me shaped up a little, walked toward me, and placed his hand on my shoulder. “With this job, you see the CRAZIEST shit from business travelers, man.” Hand slowly removes itself from my shoulder, man slowly saunters toward fellow EMT, and uncontrollable laughter continues. Also, the slight headache I had after the nap begins to worsen.

I immediately went back to my room, took five Advil, roughly six shots of worth of vodka (the only alcohol I could find in the room, most likely my roommate’s) and buried my head in a pillow. I awoke 13 hours later in a cold sweat, reciting various lines from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, and was an hour late for the next day’s conference activities. Yay me.

Monday, July 21, 2008

Another Goofy Wingman Tale

I don’t pretend to be the best with women in general. Like most average-looking guys, when out and about on weekend nights, I just try and strike up conversations with girls I either find attractive, or just seem for whatever reason to have a pretty neat personality. I don’t go all emo on myself if these “talks” don’t happen to go anywhere, nor do I begin to consider myself Fabio Jr. just because the girl in question is still talking or even openly flirting with me after some time. In fact, this would probably be my biggest piece of advice for dudes out there; just take it easy. My uninspiring ass has gotten laid plenty of times by simply being “the cool, casual customer” in a bar or club. The goal is not to act aloof, but to calmly demonstrate interest while taking the attitude of “hey, I’m having a good time tonight regardless.” The type of women who react to a guy being incredibly forward from the initial contact (or if the girl approaches you with a “take me now” attitude) are generally the type that will take you home and fuck you 37 times until sunup, and then kick you out as if they realized you look like Gilbert Gottfied. Trust me on this. I personally am not looking for a relationship at this point in my life, however I don’t appreciate being treated like a penis with a warm body attached to it, and I like to get some sleep and give my wang a rest every now and then.

That said, my roommate had a lovely episode this weekend. I got back into town Saturday night and was greeted with a “let’s roll to Fremont” (something becoming quite common on Saturday nights recently). I’m told while on the way that he was supposed to meet up with an old girlfriend who recently had taken some interest in him again, but had blown him off today. My initial thought; this boy is somewhat depressed and could some tail tonight. After meeting up with some friends, he tells the brief story again and the rest of us come to unspoken conclusion (it’s a guy thing) that I came to earlier, and with nary a word we automatically label ourselves “wingman” for the night.

Now, the night itself is fairly uneventful until the bars start chasing the customers out after last call. A couple of our friends already left so our little group was down to three, and the roommate starts talking to this girl who was apparently looking for someone. The two talk for maybe five minutes, then the roommate walks her towards us and introduces her. Cool, I’m thinking, he might have this. She drops a couple BIG hints and flashes a green light so fucking big I’m sure some guys up in Vancouver saw it and started drooling. Our other friend and I turned to the roommate (who was driving us) and basically say “hey man, we’ll taxi or something home. You’re good.” Roommate inexplicably asks to tag along. I facepalm.

As much as I wanted to just ditch him, it was obvious he was either uncomfortable or just felt the night wasn’t over for us yet as a crew, because apparently this girl had offered us all back to her place, and he wanted to take her up on it. Okay, other friend and I think; we’ll drink a beer over there, and then calmly duck out and let my roommate make his move without the awkward presence of us. Well, “a beer” turned into about three or four more, and my roommate had yet to really make much of a move to a seemingly willing participant. Friend and I become a little uneasy as this whole charade is taking way too long to develop into something worthwhile for my roommate, but now both friend and I are a little drunk and don’t feel like grabbing a cab either. We decide to willingly move ourselves outside on this girl’s patio and basically freeze our ass off on a very cool summer night, waiting for my roommate to take the cue and finish the deed. So we wait. And wait. And wait. I actually fell asleep twice, only to be awakened by other friend’s rapid texting to other people, perhaps alarming others about how pathetic my roommate is being tonight. Eventually, between being cold and just flat-out fucking impatient, I pound on the glass sliding door to give out a warning signal, in case these two were going at it right in the living room, waited about ten seconds, and came in. To my complete disappointment, roommate is simply sitting on the sofa by himself, fully clothed, and looking perpetually bored. Before I can utter a word, he looks up but doesn’t make eye contact and says “I just wasn’t feeling it.”

Now, I can appreciate this. I love sex but hate forcing it, and quite often will pass up otherwise golden opportunities because I, too, “wasn’t feeling it”. I’m not gonna rag on a brotha’ for not giving in to our own selfish desire as friends to see him get ass because our own stupid asses were convinced it would make him feel better.

That said, I went to sleep that night at least a full three hours later than I needed to because roommate didn’t have the balls to just tell us this earlier. All night every single girl that so much looked in our general direction was directed towards him, and it should’ve been obvious our whole goal that night was to feed him “a chance”. It should be a man-law that when a guy sees his friends assuming the role of “wingmen”, you need call off the dogs if it’s completely unnecessary. Furthermore, and this goes for both girls and guys, when someone seems to be giving the “go-ahead” sign to you, do not answer it if “you aren’t feeling it”, for chrissakes. True, girls will often invite guys over to their place just for sake of capping off a night with another drink and nothing more, and I can tell he difference. This girl my roommate found WANTED more. All he had to do was say no and save our time.

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Drifters Apparently Unfazed by 2008 Election

There’s usually about one day a week where for “work” I essentially make a one or two appointments in Seattle, and then spend the rest of the day essentially wandering around downtown. Yesterday I spent a little over half the day doing just this, and it was mostly uneventful until around noon when on the corner of James and 2nd I was approached by not one, but two equally annoying characters. One was a college-aged kid on I believe one of those “Get out the vote” campaigns (otherwise he’s living a very sad existence by standing on street corners simply asking people if they’re registered for amusement), and the other a drifter/homeless type with a penchant for cussing.

Me: (Walks up to corner, waits for the little Caucasian fella to light up)

Voting Kid: Hi sir! Are you registered to vote?

Drifter Dude: (steps in front of me and points right at Voting Kid) Are YOUUUU registered to vote?

Voting Kid: (slight pause) uh….yeah

Drifter Dude: (still uncomfortably right in front of me, now turns to face me) I guess this little douchebag is not only registered to vote, but is registered to piss me the FUCK OFF!

Voting Kid: (visibly annoyed) Anyway (to me), are you registered to vote sir?

Drifter Dude: Don’t answer him kid

Voting Kid: Excuse me?

Drifter Dude: (tries to put arm around me, I duck out of way) I’m talking to my friend here, PAL! Take your vote and shove it up your ass!

Voting Kid: Does your “friend” even know your name?

Drifter Dude: (pause, turns to face me again, and lowers voice) Do I kill him now, or later?

*Crosswalk Caucasian lights up*

Me: How about now…BYE!

Monday, July 14, 2008

I'm Sure Paris Is Nice...

I spend on average about 80-85% of my daily life decidedly NOT taking myself and the world around me seriously. I grew up watching just as much CNN as cartoons on Saturday mornings (before I was given a TV in my bedroom, my Dad was not just going to change the channel for me until his news fix was done), and as a result I spent more time than I should’ve otherwise as a youth worrying about anything from nuclear proliferation to what the hell went wrong in Mogadishu. Occasionally, I feel the need to be a retard at 24 years old to make up for lost time.

That said, not all of my time spent on the internet is used for fart jokes and cats with stupid
captions. One of my favorite bloggers is apparently about to hit the road again, and once again putting his life in potential danger with me sitting safely on my ass in my home country awaiting new entries of his experiences. Aside from the fact he’s a great writer and does his best to report/reflect on what he’s seen while eschewing as much political bias as he can (can’t say the same for his comments section), most of my checking-in stems from my own personal desire to visit many of the same areas he does. The idea of traveling abroad to lavish resorts in politically and economically stable countries doesn’t particularly excite me, and I wasn’t impressed or all that happy the few times in life I’ve already done so. I live in the United States; the bulk of my money is invested in banks which are FDIC-insured, my votes are counted, our economy is still un-Godly huge and vibrant overall in comparison, and of course there’s this thing called the Constitution and the Bill of Rights which further help guarantee a rather nice lifestyle. In short, I already know what living “comfortably” is like.

Vietnam is one of my first planned trips, mainly because I’ve read so many books on our little adventure there some 40-odd years ago. It's not Haiti, but it's also not quite the tourist-rich mecca that I'd prefer to avoid. It’s a beautiful country, but I would find it so fascinating and powerful to interact with someone knowing full well that my own father was part of an otherwise bullshit military intervention which possibly killed his or hers. I may not yet know the language, but eye contact and hopefully a smile would be enough.

Friday, July 11, 2008

From Maui Comes Reason

I think it was only 9:30 or 10:00 at night when overlooking the Seattle skyline from some party we had crashed on Alki Beach (it's located in West Se....aw fuck it, if you don't know the city) when the infamous Tyler, visiting from...I assume Hawaii...turned to me and said "Y'know, you should keep a blog or some shit since I only keep in touch with people via the internet".

I don't remember my next move, as its entirely possible I dismissed his comment to drool at a passing female or bitch at how warm my beer was, but about a couple weeks after his departure back into his own nomadic lifestlye, where even HE can maintain a website despite sometimes being in places where running water can be a luxury, let alone the internet, I decided the least I could do is try and keep up.

Most of my old friends from back east who may or may not read this with any regularity already know I had a brainfart sometime back in late '07 and decided I would move west. I still have brainfarts, but they usually cause a more "localized" disturbance (running across the street to the 7-11 at 3am for a hot dog and a slurpee when neither hungry nor thirsty). The fact is, I realize it's a little sketchy on my part to bail 3,000 miles away in a flash, and all the while answering your phone calls yet not really ever providing much of an explanation for why I moved and what I'm currently doing.

Whatever...some of you read my older blog when I was in high school/early college, and the fail was rather strong in that one. I don't expect to maintain this daily, nor fill it with my own activities or conquests only...this simply exists to fill my quota of incoherent rambling, to demonstrate that yes I'm doing okay and staying productive (mostly), and that I didn't move to Seattle and became a drifter in flannel, retracing the steps of early Pearl Jam and Soundgarden in some horrid attempt at rekindling my days in elementary and middle school.

Actually, that last part doesn't sound so bad if I'm randomly fired from my job anytime soon.