...for every person in the past two weeks that has told me that they saw Forgetting Sarah Marshall and mentioned "Joe, you are exactly like the guy in that movie!," I'd probably have something like thirty cents.
Who is Sarah Marshall? See, I've forgotten already!
Have you ever seen that show "How It's Made" on the Discovery Channel? If not, they basically show how things are made from start to finish, anything from aluminum baseball bats to tubas to clock radios to candy bars. It's not the greatest show ever, but when I'm trying to fall asleep and channel surfing, whenever I come across the show, I usually watch it.
Until now.
Last night they showed how hot dogs are made. Now I've read The Jungle and have friends who refer to dogs as "lips and assholes," but never until last night was I utterly disgusted by the thought of eating hot dogs.
It's 12:14 AM and I've been drinking. And I'm alone. Not good.
I was supposed to go out with a lawyer tonight, remember? The plan was for me to call her to confirm the details on this afternoon, which I did. After the standard "How was your day?" and "Looking forward to dinner tonight!" pleasantries, she told me she wasn't sure if she'd be able to make our date because her best friend was in labor in the hospital. "Oh, are you planning on being in the delivery room when the baby arrives?" to which she answered "no," causing me to become a wee bit puzzled as to why her friend's situation was going to affect our date. It's not like I was planning on taking her to Paris for the entire weekend, for cryin' out loud. She starts mumbling and to be honest, she's a horrible fucking liar so her reasoning for why she needed to be present during the birth was not only incoherent, but totally unbelievable as well. Now I know I don't have my Juris Doctor degree, but unless the administering of epidurals or measuring of cervical dilation is now something they teach at the University of San Diego Law School, this girl was clearly full of shit.
But I heard she was attractive and I am quite desperate, so I am willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, no matter how absurd.
She told me that if I didn't hear from her by 6 PM, I was to assume that our date was still on. I told her I'd rather she call me at 6 o'clock to let me know exactly if we were on or not simply as a courtesy. At this point, I knew the date was almost definitely off, but I still planned my evening around it, just in case God decided not to continue his run of cruel and unusual jokes on me.
Sure enough, Alli McMedicine Woman called exactly at 6 PM and said, "Would you be terribly offended if we postponed our date? I'm still stuck at work," and she then followed up her lame excuse with some incoherent babbling about a friend coming into town tomorrow and that she needed to clean up her house. So now she was canceling the date because a) her friend was in labor, b) She was still stuck at work on a Saturday, and c) a friend was in from out of town. A trifecta!
Now, I always thought one of the first things they taught you to do in law school was to lie. After all, isn't that what being a lawyer is all about? (I kid, I kid.) But this chick must have been absent that day because she absolutely sucked at it. I told her that I wasn't offended and that she should go and enjoy her time with her friends, and that it was nice talking to her. I almost wanted to give her a lesson on how to lie since she clearly could have used it, but I was politeland decided to bite thy tongue. She did, however, seem a bit taken aback that I made no effort to try and reschedule. In fact, she even flat out asked, "do you want to reschedule?" I decided to play along: "Okay, how's your schedule next week?"
She then proceeded to go through her Franklin Covey or DayRunner or Microsoft Outlook or whatever the hell she was pretending to reference and read off every day that she wasn't available. It was apparent she didn't want to meet so I basically cut her off and said "Why don't you call me, when you're available?" She said fine, and I said good night.
I've been flaked on and brushed off before and to be honest, it doesn't bother me the most about this whole situation. What really grinds my gears is that people no longer take pride in their work anymore...not even their lies!
I am Al's inner rage.
That is the same question I would pose to you! You don't really seem like the kind of guy that would be on an internet dating service. That means there has to be something wrong...what is it? (Is she serious or joking? Most people follow up writing/typing a sarcastic remark with at least a " : ) " or something. Is she actually mocking me?)So that happened...
As for me, some friends and I decided to get on here for fun, just kind of see what's going on. I am pretty social person and I go out a lot but the last place I am trying to meet someone is at a bar. I would never think about dating someone within my circle of friends even though they are fab. Basically, just wanted to test it out, see if there was any type of legitimacy to it whatsoever...so far, there is none. (Wait...is that including me or up until me?) I am very hesistant about this whole deal. So, most of the time, I just have fun messing with people. (So you're wasting my time, is what you're saying? This is just some kind of game to you? THERE ARE LIVES AT STAKE HERE, LADY!)
I'm bored and I've been thinking. The result was the following idea:
I plan on sending a letter to myself and when I get it, I'm going to write "Return to Sender" on it.
Consider this a warning. If this creates some kind of rift in the space-time continuum, causes a tear in the universal fabric and a vortex swallows the world whole, I take full responsibility.
An excerpt from my list of a million things that I just don't understand:
740. Since when did the knuckle-pound become socially acceptable for fifty-year-old white guys on the golf course instead of the high five? (Also, I'm guilty of knuckle-pounding but I'll also have you know that I'm one of the few people on this green earth who still are proponents of the Top Gun high five.)
741. Women.
742. Hey Biker Dude in my apartment complex...why do you insist on taking up an entire parking spot with your hog? Take a look around the lot...you'll see other bikers share spots or use the smaller not-quite-a-real-parking-spot spots. Do the same. Please.
743. As I'm writing this, AMC (you know, "American Movie Classics") runs a commercial for up-coming programming, which includes "Celtic Pride" today at 11:30 AM. "Celtic Pride"? Really? It makes sense if you consider it a classic piece of shit.
744. The fascination for Crocs.
745. Why are they called Grape Nuts? There are no grapes, there are no nuts.
746. Why am I attracted to a certain married woman and why do I get the sense she's attracted to me?
747. Quantum physics.
748. My own strength.
749. Who the fuck is the miserable piece of shit who removes peoples' laundry from the machines and throws it all over the utility table? The pile of clothes I saw today I know for a fact weren't sitting in the washer more than five minutes after the cycle ended. How much of a hurry are you in and how much of an asshole are you if you can't wait a few more minutes or use one of the other two laundry rooms in our complex?
750. Why do people say "I finally found what I was looking for...it's funny, but it's always the last place you look." Of course it is...it was the last place you looked because you stopped looking after you found it! If you kept looking after you found it, that'd make you retarded.
751. Who the hell cast Mark Holton as "Chubby" in Teen Wolf? He's supposed to be in high school. He was 26 when the movie was filmed. HE LOOKED 40!
Well, I don't. But I did meet three different women today who told me they had boyfriends within the first five minutes of meeting them. One this morning at the gym, one at the bar at work, and one at my bank. I didn't ask a single one of them if they had boyfriends, nor was I trying to hit on any of them. (Okay, maybe that last part isn't entirely true, but I wasn't trying very hard.) These three women just felt it necessary to not-so-subtly work the existence of their boyfriends into the conversation.
The girl at the gym was on the bike next to me and told me she had just joined the Y last week. I introduced myself and told her I joined back in November. She then tells me that she joined because her boyfriend thinks her ass was getting fat. (For the record, she was not fat. She was insanely hot and her boyfriend was clearly both an idiot and a douche bag. And for the record #2, I told her that her boyfriend was indeed an idiot and that she's looked great. She smiled, thanked me, then proceeded to put her earbuds in and start pedaling away.) The woman at work complimented me on my glasses, saying "I love your glasses. They look cute on you!" I smiled and before I could even thank her, she informs me that her boyfriend used to have a pair like them too before he got laser eye surgery. The teller at my bank must have noticed me playing with my BlackBerry while she was depositing my check and asked me if I liked it. I told her I loved it and there's a reason why they call them "CrackBerries." She, naturally, goes on to tell me that she wants to buy a cell phone for her boyfriend's birthday.
I'm no stranger to the ol' "I have a boyfriend" line. I've become accustom to it and it really doesn't bother me anymore (EDIT: Well, obviously it does bother me since I've dedicated today's blog post about it!) I've gotten it plenty in my day when talking to a girl. Now I don't know this for a fact, but I'm pretty fucking sure at least half of them were lying. Hell, I even had the honor of a girl telling me she had a boyfriend when I asked her out for a second date. Apparently she was dated several people -- no shame in that -- and met some dude, dated him, and was at a stage in the relationship where she felt comfortable enough to call the man her boyfriend...all within the two days it took me to call her after our first date.
Don't get me wrong...my beef isn't entirely with these women. In most social circles, the line "I have a boyfriend" is code for "Screw off, I'm not interested." Hey, I get it. But why do women feel it necessary to tell you they have boyfriends when you're not even remotely making a move on them? Are they just so proud of having boyfriends and so in love that they want to shout it from the rafters and let the whole world know? Or do they feel like every guy -- even if he's not overtly hitting on them -- has some kind of motive, and the existence of a boyfriend, real or not, will keep us horn dogs at bay?
I wonder if these women's boyfriends are walking around telling every woman they meet that they have girlfriends. Somehow, I don't think so. In fact, I GUARANTEE somewhere right now there's a guy out there with a girlfriend. And this guy is hitting on a girl. And this girl will tell him she has a boyfriend.
And even if he's not hitting on her, she'll find a way to work it into the conversation.
I hate you, Obama.
Hate is a strong word, I know. I really don't hate Barack, per say. Not at least in the way I actually hate/loathe/fear Hillary. But Obama (and some liquor) ruined my date last night so I hate him for it.
Date #2 of the week (or maybe it's technically just Date #1?) took place at Dave & Buster's. (Her choice, which I thought was a bold, but great idea for a first date. A crowd, some alcohol, good eats, video games...what more can you ask for to break the ice when first meeting someone? I thought it was brilliant and I think I'm gonna steal the idea and use it in the future for first dates as well. But I digress...)
So the date was going awesome. Kristie was even cuter than her picture, we connected well, we were having fun...at a certain point of the date, I'm pretty damn sure you could have seen me grinning ear to ear it was so good. After playing some games for about an hour -- believe it or not, I kicked her ass on Dance Dance Revolution. She claims she hurt her ankle over the weekend while training for a marathon but that's no excuse! Also, this girl was some kind of savant when it came to Skee-Ball. We didn't end up redeeming our tickets at evening's end, but I'm pretty sure she coulda walked out of there with a Fabergé egg if they sold them at the gift shop. That or 263 small stuffed giraffes.) -- Kristie suggested we hit the bar and grab a bite to eat. We ordered the Appetizer Trio, I got a Diet Coke and she, a Mojito. But not before she insisted we each pound down a Jager Bomb. I wasn't going to say no, but I also really didn't want to end up shit-faced in front of a total stranger, so I told her I'd take the shot, but that's it. ("I'll do one!") Her one Mojito turned into two, plus an Apple-tini and a pear cider. Maybe she's trying to up her fruit intake, but she's going about it all the wrong way.
It was near the end of the evening and it seemed like we had run out of stuff to say, as our small talk was just that...small. She noticed on one of the bar flat-screens that the Democrat debate was going on and she asks me who I thought was going to win the election.
I hesitated to answer because I didn't want my political views screw up what I thought was a successful date up to that point, but I decided to play along and take it safe. I didn't tell her who I was voting for, but maybe from my answer she could have deduced my political affiliation. I told her that the huge division between the two Democrat candidates was going to really hurt the Party and whoever eventually emerged on that ticket and that in the end, "the old white guy will win."
Kristie didn't agree nor disagree with me, but answered with "As long as it's not Obama!"
Well, anytime someone is anti-something, it interests me why they are anti- instead of pro-, so I asked why she wasn't an Obama fan.
"The main reason is that he hates Jews." (Earlier in the date, she told me she was Jewish.)
Even as Republican as I am, I just couldn't let her throw around fallacies about the guy, so I told her that I hadn't heard that about Obama and if that was indeed true and public knowledge, his campaign would have been over long ago to which she simply answered with "but he's Muslim!"
Now Adam, correct me if I'm wrong, but Obama's dad was Muslim and Obama is Christian (albeit he goes to a pretty whack Christian church.) I tell Kristie this and add the fact that just because you are a black Muslim, it doesn't exactly make you one of Farrakhan's disciples.
"What's a disciple of Farrakhan?" she asked and before I could give her a lecture about the history of the Nation of Islam, her phone rang (For you keeping track, her ring tone was Mariah Carey's new "Touch My Body.") She apologized, but said she needed to take it then walked off chatting on her cell. She returned a few minutes later and again apologized. Although I was a bit annoyed and didn't like that the date had suddently derailed, I told her I didn't mind and that it was okay. It was at that time when our server placed the check presenter in-between us and thanked us for the night.
Now here's the thing: I (almost) never let my dates pay. I don't even like to let my mom, sister or female friends pay unless they absolutely insist. Whether it's $11 at The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf on a first date, or $110 at a fancy shmancy restaurant on date numero quatro, I always get the check or at least intend to. I just think it's the gentlemanly thing to do so I do it!
Once in a while, though, it's nice when the woman makes a fake reach for the check when the waiter puts it on the table. You know, that sort of half-assed reach where she says, "Oh, let me...," but then you cut her off, grab the check, and say, "No. No. I got it." Well, Kristie didn't do the fake reach, which is fine, but if you're not gonna do the fake reach, then you must at the very least do the fake "thank you," which she didn't either. I mean fuck, I had two potato skins and a soda while this broad drank $3o in booze! Oh well, I figured maybe she was saving the "thank you" for the end of the date. You know, "Thank you for dinner, thank you for a nice time", etc. But again, I was wrong. As I walked her to her car in the parking lot, all I got was a "Good night. Take care." and she was gone...kind of like my desire to ever call her again.
Two dates down, one to go.
I hate you, Obama.
So, as I mentioned yesterday, I have a week full of eHarmony meet-ups, starting with last night. Let me tell you, I had an intense conversation last night with a great woman.
The only problem was that woman was my therapist, Dr. G, and not Megan, Bachelorette #1.
In our last email exchange on eHarmony, Megan sent me her phone number and said "Call me if you want to hang out" to which I responded with "Heck ya. How's coffee on Tuesday night sound? If that sounds good, I'll call you to figure out where." Megan wrote back saying "Tuesday is great...9?" and I said "Okay! Call you then!"
Well, work has been, let's just put it this way: crazier than an asylum and busier than a brothel. We recently had to let go of a few department heads/managers, so everyone has been working harder and longer to pick up the slack. We had a tournament/auction/banquet yesterday, which meant I had to be there to help set up and because of the recent personnel moves, I'd have to be there to see the entire event through. So when 8 PM rolls around (aka Hour Thirteen) and I realize I am far from leaving work, I decide to call Megan and fill her in on my situation and also figure out where we were meeting. Of course, she doesn't pick up (but really, I don't blame her...maybe she's a call-screener like me) so I leave a message telling her that I'm going to be at work for at least another 30 minutes, but that as soon as I can get out of there I'll head home, shower and meet her for our date. I even let her know I can make it the entire way to Solana Beach, no need for us to meet in the middle.
When my BlackBerry showed 8:45 PM and returned phone call, I started panicking. I finally got out of work a few minutes before 9 o'clock. I got home, showered and got ready. Still no missed call. Now what was I to do? Call her? Shit, would I look like John Favreau from Swingers? Then again, how can the date even take place if we never even speak to each other? Screw it, I'll call again, see if it's still on or perhaps reschedule for another day. No answer again. Panic sets in. I left a half-hearted message, telling her sorry that it was so late and maybe we could meet up later in the week.
After I hung up and realized I was all dressed up with nowhere to go, I started to feel like shit. It was the feeling of "Fuck, I love my job too much and it just ruin what could have been a great night" which, after a bit of sulking turned to "Fuck, running late or not, I just got stood up."
It was then that I picked up the red emergency phone and called Dr. G. I told her the situation, my feelings, etc. She had no idea I had dates lined up for the week and told me that it was just one date, that I had two more girls to meet. It was a good 30 minute conversation about women and work.
I'll try to put it behind me but help me God, if my job (and my workaholism) cost me another date, I'm gonna get medieval on someone's ass. We'll see how tonight goes with Kristie, Bachelorette #2.
As much as I'm rooting for LeBron to just go buck wild in the playoffs and single-handedly win the Championship, I think a Lakers-Celtics final could just about be the best thing to happen to the NBA since they abandoned the Stockton nut-huggers.
Not only would it revive the rivalry (if only for one post-season), but I think it's a legit great match-up.
And as much of a Kobe Hater that I am, for crying out loud, give the guy the MVP already. (I'd vote, in order, Kobe-Paul-King James. Sure, Garnett and Duncan will get votes, but the three I previously mentioned are head and shoulders above the rest of the league in terms of Most Valuable.)
Worked long and hard Monday through Saturday, which included a trip to and from Long Beach to help out the company, a meeting with the Regional Director and some drama at work. When yesterday rolled around, I just had to relax and take it off.
10:40 AM: The mimosas start pouring at PB Bar & Grill with Adam, Mike, Linda, Jean, Samantha, Jessica and Gabi. I highly recommend the Sunday brunch out on the patio when it's 86 degrees like it was yesterday.
12:30 PM: Watched the entire coverage of the Masters (which was pretty anti-climactic, given Tiger couldn't get anything started, Snedeker shit the bed all day and Immelman is just kinda boring, but hey, it's still the Masters) at the new Tilted Kilt pub. It's like Hooters meets Ireland. Can't remember how many Newcastles I had, but it was my day off and I didn't care!
5:25 PM: Headed up the block to East Village Tavern + Bowl and played a couple of frames of horrific bowling.
8:00 PM: Took a tour of Mike and Linda's hotel/apartment. Cool and ecclectic, that place is a little San Diego treasure!
9:35 PM: Ended the night at Xavier's Bar, where I was served the largest plate of nachos I've ever seen. (They were shared four-ways, of course...)
Ahhh...the batteries are recharged. Let's do it all again!
Don't worry, the dating streak is still going.
I was supposed to go out with a girl tonight who, as of yesterday at 8:00 PM, sounded like she wasn't going to live to see 8:05. She told me she had "that thing that's going around"...herpes? Seriously though, I only know two people who are sick (one being in Long Beach) so I really don't know what's "going around." What I do know was that she sounded like she was about to cough up a fucking ovary, forget about a lung. Over the phone, there were a few sentences she just abruptly ended with a sneeze or a cough. There might have even been a snough in there (or is it a "ceeze"?)
I told her I hoped she felt better soon and that I'd give her a call over the weekend to reschedule our first date. She was perplexed, seriously asking why in the world would I want to reschedule. I told her she sounded really sick (hell, I was starting to feel ill just talking to her over the phone) and that she wouldn't have fun, we should get together when she was feeling better.
She insisted that somehow she was going to be better by today (which, in retrospect, was kind of a nice change of pace...usually girls suddenly feel under the weather and cancel on me. This one was actually planning on suddenly getting better!) She said she's never been sick for more than a week and that this was actually Day 7 of her being sick.
Maybe, looking back now, this was a mistake but I again explained to her that I thought it would be best if we waited until maybe the weekend to meet.
That's when Robitussin turned into Robo Bitch: "What are you, some sort of germaphobe? It's not like we're gonna have sex or anything. It's just a cup of coffee."
"No sex? Well, then I see no point in meeting at all," I said in hopes that my sarcasm might ease her anger.
"EXCUSE me? You think I'm some kind of slut or something?"
"Not at all," I shot back. "You are just an inconsiderate bitch who doesn't care if she infects other people with dysentery."
Okay, okay...I didn't say that. But that's what I wanted to say! What I actually said was just the "Not at all" part, to which she responded, "That's what I thought. So what time are we meeting tomorrow?"
It was then when one of the closers at work called me and if someone is calling me at 8:45 PM from work, it can't be good and I consider it an emergency. I tell Typhoid Mary that work is calling and I have to put her on hold for a second. She says "ok" and I take the call.
Turns out it was an emergency, sorta...the guys at work couldn't get the alarm to turn off, so I had to head over to work A.S.A.P. to take care of the situation. I flip the conversation back over to Miss Sniffles but no one's there. Silence.
Maybe she hung up on me, or maybe the fever actually got the best of her while she was on hold. Either way, my evening's wide open.
I love a good book. As a kid, I owned all the Matt Christopher books and called the Encyclopedia Brown series a favorite of mine. In middle school, it was Dean Koontz novels. High school led me to read a lot of sports non-fiction and classical literature. College years was more sports fiction, New York Times Best-Sellers, and religious and philosophical texts. Now a days, I don't read as much as I would like, but it's mostly popular fiction and various books on management, baseball and philosophy. One book that I missed (regrettably) was "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs" by Chuck Klosterman. My boy John suggested it to me one day and I recently picked it up a few weeks ago. Last week I cracked the paperback open and wow, it's changed me.
Klosterman is my kind of guy...not only does he rock the thick-framed glasses, but he loves pop culture, is extremely witty and his commentary is hilariously scathing and sharp. The book's various irrelevant subjects include Klosterman's disdain for soccer, the coolness of the uncool Billy Joel, Guns N' Roses tribute bands, how the Sims video game shows "even eternally free people are enslaved by the process of living", the Celtics-Lakers rivalry (the chapter I'm on right now), and how John Cusack has ruined his chance with women. And that's only the first half of the book that I've read.
If you are a pop culture junkie, this collection of essays is a must-read.
So I was over at my friend Amanda's crib the other day and she was telling me all about a book called "Eat, Pray, Love" which apparently is this great bestseller, Oprah's Book of the Minute club, yada yada yada. Amanda said it truly spoke to her and that a lot of women have read the book and been inspired by it.
*"Eat, Pray, Love." It was about a woman on a traveling spiritual/mixed with fun discovery. I liked the descriptions and the info about Italy/India/Indonesia.
*"Eat, Pray, Love." It's about a woman in her early thirties who goes on a path of self-discovery after going through a personal crisis. She sets out to explore three differenct aspects of her nature, set against the backdrop of three differenct cultures: pleasure in Italy, devotion in India, and balance in Bali. I loved it. It was a very candid and inspiring story. I particularily enjoyed her descriptions of the countries,
countries that I haven't been to... yet!
*The last book I read was called Eat, Pray, Love and was mainly about figuring out what makes you happy in life and how to further ones's spiritual life. I really enjoyed this book because I felt I was able to relate to so much of what the author was sharing about her own life.
*I have "Eat, Pray, Love" sitting next to my bed waiting to be picked up, so stay tuned for an update.
*Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India and Indonesia. She goes to Italy to experience pleasure, India to explore
spirituality, and Indonesia to find something she calls balance.
*I'm currently reading a memoir called "Eat Pray Love". I love the time the author takes to induldge her passions. It reminds me to create a balance between my personal and professional life and to follow my dreams.
Crap.
Remember how pumped I was for the weekend? Well, much like my fantasy baseball roster, I went oh-for the weekend:
Sushi with that broad?
Stood up. Not even a "sorry I never called you back" phone call either!
That great day at work?
Instead of the 1200 expected, about 300 people showed up...quite the disappointment. At least my staff was ready and did great dispite the poor turnout.
The $40 haircut in Little Italy?
Never got around to make the appointment.
Crap.
I really can't wait for this weekend. Sushi manana with a cool chick, a fun (although busy and stressful) day at work on Sunday (and yes, I'll be teaching), and I'm planning on treating myself to a really expensive haircut at one of those straight outta "GoodFellas" barbershops (it is in Little Italy) where they primp and pamper you with a great cut, warm towel on face, shaved with a straight blade, etc. Not only is the place by appointment only, but referral only! How cool is that?!
I had the distinguished honor today of talking with a Stanford graduate. At least that's what she'd had you believe...
To me it was more torturous than honorable. This girl mentioned the fact that she went to Stanford 7 times in the half hour we spoke. I counted. That's like once every 4 minutes...I think. I'd be more certain, if I went to Stanford myself, and knew how to divide stuff. They definitely teach them kinda fancy book learnin' things there...but what they clearly don't teach is "tact".
I can recall almost every instance in which she just happened to throw in the fact that she went to Stanford (which, let the record show, I think is a GREAT school and hell, if I graduated from Palo Alto, I'd bring it up too...just not in every other sentence):
1. "No, there were those four years at Stanford." - In response to my question, "Have you lived in San Diego your whole life?"
2. "Yeah, I couldn't get into the Giants or A's when I was up in the Bay while going to Stanford." - In response to my comment that I'd gone to the Padres game early this week.
4. "Can you hold on a sec? My roommate from Stanford is calling. I just want to make sure she made it home okay."
5. "Yeah, she's great. I really love seeing her. Stanford was so much fun with her. She's really brilliant." - In response to my questioning, "Did she make it home okay?"
There were two or three others just like that. I'm not kidding!
