Unforeseen Consequences

My best friend and old roommate Leo, doesn't like to guest post often. I'll ask him on occasion to write something for me when I suffer some serious writer's blog (see what I did there?). Most of the time, he'll graciously decline, saying that the blog is my palate in which to paint my own story and thoughts on dating.

But he's been known to come out of the wood works to give his two cents every now and then.

It wasn't a huge surprise when he had asked me if he could write his thoughts on some recent events.

How could I resist such an offer? Especially since so many readers have asked for it as of late.

So let's get right to it.

Enjoy!
So@24

* * *

Hello my darlings.

So has been in recovery since the events of last weekend, so I'm taking a moment away from dabbing his pallid brow with a damp cloth to post a little something. Dear boy hates to neglect his readers.

As we all know, So recently ended what can only be described as an absolutely titanic dry spell. For context, the last time he had sex, Anna Nicole Smith was alive, no one had heard of a dude named Barack, and our solar system had an extra planet. Yep. You can literally measure his abstinence on a cosmic scale.

And as we all know, this all came to a rapturous end (cue glorious choral music, montage of time-lapse rose blooming, rocket blasting off, train going into tunnel, Old Faithful, fireworks). Jack and I rejoiced. We had coaxed and coached for, well, years. And now we relished the catharsis.

So@24: Should I really be sharing details with you guys?
Jack: I puked in a bag for you. And Leo kissed a dude. You owe us.
So@24: So I had sex this weekend. A lot.
Leo: -wipes single tear of joy-
Jack: like it's the end of Return of the Jedi and So is Luke all partying with Ewoks and whatnot, and you and I are like the ghosts of Obi Won and Yoda that appear beside the campfire nodding approvingly.
So@24: HAHAHAHHAHHAHAHAHA
Leo: -sigh-
Jack: -wistful sigh-
So: I can't believe after all this time, I can finally join you guys in locker room banter. It's like I've been back into the Forbidden City. I'm like that kid who finally got his Super Nintendo after all the kids in the neighborhood have had it for years.
Jack: Well ours are broken apparently, so looks like we'll be playing at your house.

[Beat]

Leo: I need to have sex.
Jack: Seconded.



We were happy. But this victory was to be bittersweet, and Jack and I were its foreshadowing. You see, So has not yet grasped the consequences of his actions. As the dude who invented those fig cookies wrote, for every action there is a reaction. For every Yin there exists a Yang. Where there is light, so must there be shadow. And oh, what a beastly shadow it is. It's name?

No Sex.

We've all been there. You're coasting along, enjoying healthy sexual endeavors, then one day they cease... and a terrible terrible fiend fills the void. It strikes in the loins and lingers, slowly eating away at your standards, judgment, and resolve. Left untreated, it only grows, consuming your thoughts and making you send inadvisable texts. And sex? Sex is merely a temporary treatment... Beastie will lurk, dormant, until it's time to rise again.

It's a burden that comes with the blessing. So had the blessing. But in resetting his coital switch, he's awoken this succubus once more.


And mark my words... one night a week or two from now, he'll be tossing and turning in bed, trying to figure out the source of his restlessness. Suddenly he'll realize it. His eyes will snap open and he'll whisper the tragic truth...

"I need to have sex."

Unfortunately there's nothing we can do for him. He and his lovely share a geographic disparity that makes regular boinking impossible. And so I welcome him into the ranks of The Infected*.

Godspeed, my friend. It's going to be a bitch.








*If you get the L4D ref, you're rad. Also, a nerd.
**If you got the title's HL2 ref, you're really rad. Also, a nerd to the point of it being kind of sad.

Welcome Back.

Clouds parted.

The sun cut through the thin layer of dust on my bedroom window panes.

I leaped from my bed, threw open the shutters.

Two little bluebirds fluttered in and I sang a very cliche' Disney-esque song as I raised my arms as they put a robe on me.

Also, a unicorn served me breakfast.

Yes.

I had sex.

I'm going to say that again for all the skimmers and also because it bears repeating.

I had sex.

Let me backtrack a bit and explain how this came to be.

* * *

A quote from my best friend Leo is an appropriate way to start things off:

Leo: Where do people meet people? Everyone is in a fucking relationship... I'd like to see the sociological stats/bar graph on where people meet. At least for our age.

I complain about this constantly. It's really fucking hard to meet people, especially if there aren't any prospects at the job and you don't have any help from your friends trying to set you up.

Despite popular belief, I didn't create this blog to meet girls. But as time went on, well... it was almost inevitable. I mean, there are some pretty brilliant fucking people in the blogosphere and a girl that is witty in writing is going to get an eyebrow raise. They just kind of happen.

How Bloggy Romance Works:
A Universal (and fucking toolish) Flow Chart

Read blogs > Comment exchanges > Emails > Gchats > Social Networking Access (to judge/stalk photos) > Phone number exchange > Phone calls > Meet up

That is how I met Beth.

Beth, unfortunately, shares the same name as another alias I had in my past. But, well, what can I do? It has been written.

* * *

After the natural progression of things, Beth booked a ticket to fly out to stay with me for a weekend. Shit like this doesn't scare me or intimidate me; a girl who is willing to take a leap with you and do something so incredibly insane/spontaneous is a good sign in my book. It means she's just as into you as you are of her.

I was incredibly nervous. Not to meet Beth. There wasn't any surprises from my end; she's just as funny, cute, and smart as I thought she would be. But my real fear was the anticipation of having a girl stay over at my place for an entire weekend.

Shit I Had Forgotten About But That Make Up "The Good Stuff"

• Walking out of the shower to find a girl laying on top of your bed in a messy ponytail, wearing your t-shirt and in her undies checking her email from a laptop
• Seeing multi-colored bottles of shampoo/body wash in your shower
• Girl smell lingering on your pathetic pillows
• Grocery shopping with a girl on your arm
• Have a girl legitimately laugh at all your shitty attempts as jokes

And I don't mean to always "wax nostalgia" about my ex girlfriend Lynn all the time, but it's really the only thing I can compare things too.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't knocked back a few times during the weekend when things like what I just listed above didn't bitch slap me. Weird flash backs of snapshot-polaroid-esque memories I had of Lynn. Like someone reeling back and smacking a fire extinguisher across my dome.

It's embarrassing to admit, but if I'm going to be honest here... it happens. The main reason being: I thought that I'd never be able to have these experiences (see: bullet points above) with someone else.

It's nice to know that it actually is possible, because it's a very real fear (during that period of your life) to think that it can't ever happen again. I have the weekend to prove it. So... to all the So@24s circa 2007... take note.


I had some encouragement from my friends along the way:

Maxie's chart:



And, of course, what would a landmark So@24 post be without a great 3-way gchat convo between Leo, Jack and myself? Look at how much respect I get from these guys:

Leo: I can't even imagine you having sex. I'm actually trying, bizarrely enough. It just comes out wrong.
Leo: Like an Escher illustration. Looks okay, but something's definitely going on that isn't quite right.
Jack: I tried and it was like a confusing cartoon. But with old Batman sound effects.
Leo: And the occasional clown horn.

Sparta.

Jack: I'm more or less that sidekick in the movie who fights off the bad guys long enough for the hero to storm the castle and then dies in a blaze of glory.
So@24: It feels good to be alive again. Jack: I'm going to ask that you take my cellphone when we get there.
So@24: Done.
Jack: Ahhhhh! -pounds chest- Okay, whew. Gotta calm down a little bit.
So@24: Haha! Why are YOU? I should be the one freaking out here.
Jack: Sure you should, but unlike you, my job is to talk to 8 people, girl people, I've never before without seeming awkward in such a way that casts you in positive light. It's like 300.
So@24: With great power comes great responsibility.
Jack: And arrows.
So@24: Well, yes. And arrows.

* * *

The term "wingman" comes with so many negative connotations. I'll even admit that the first thing that comes into my head is "douchebag". You think of popped collar guys scheming with his buddies, sitting down with a WWII-esque map trying to figure out what the best strategy is to get laid.

But there are instances when a friend takes a bullet for you. Not in the sense that he's going to sleep with the ugly friend a la' a "grenade jump" to help out a buddy (apparently this really happens, kind of sick, if you ask me). But in that he's going to put himself in a "not-so-ideal" situation without thinking twice about it.

This is what Jack did for me in Santa Barbara when I was to meet Bree for the first time.

Allow me to explain the difference between the socially accepted term of "wingman" and what a true friend is.

* * *

Let me bring you back to that evening.

I was asking my friend Jack to drive with me to Santa Barbara to meet up with a girl who I essentially met via the internet and her friends. This would be my first encounter.

I was asking a lot of Jack and he agreed to accompany me without hesitation. That's loyalty, my friends.

But let's fast forward to the latter part of the evening.

Jack had faked a phone call on his cell (it was nearing 3:00am at this point, perhaps Bree and I were both too drunk to call him out on this) and went back out into the shit weather alone.

Jack and I had never been to Santa Barbara before. Our knowledge of the surrounding area was subpar at best. Needless to say, Jack had a hellva time navigating his walking route from Bree's friend's house back to the dingy hotel. A Magellan, he is not.

He was without an umbrella and it was pouring sheets. And he was MC Hammered.

From what we've recollected of his journey, he stopped by a local 7-11 and picked up a microwavable DiGiorno's pizza. He continued his sprint to the hotel, but stopped at another one on the way.

He climbed a fence and stripped down to his jeans. Jack knew that he needed a quick remedy for his extreme drunkenness. The most logical answer at that time was to dive into the pool for a night (very early morning) swim. Jack was already drenched at this point and remembered that I had warned him of the reputation Santa Barbara police have for having low tolerance for this type of boozey shennanigans.

Jack bundled up his sopping wet clothes, tucked his frozen pizza under his arms and continued his jaunt back to the hotel.

Jack soon realized that the hotel I had booked for the evening did not come with a microwave. He ran back to the 7-11 to ask if they had one. They did not.

* * *

I awoke the next morning to a sickening gargling sound coming from the bathroom.

Yep. Jack was in the shower trying to make himself puke. A soggy pizza box sat on the table, ripped open from the middle.

Jack emerged from the bathroom looking like absolute hell. He was in no shape to operate heavy machinery. Jack bundled up his wet clothes into a trash bag and I pulled the car around.

He grabbed an extra bag and held it in his lap the entire ride home. I still had a giant grin plastered on my face as I cranked up the volume to the stereo when Jack released his stomach contents into his sad little trash bag. He barely spoke a word the entire ride back to Los Angeles.

When I dropped him off at his house, Jack took about 10 mins to release himself of the seatbelt and tumbled out of the passenger side.

He dragged himself to the porch and as I pulled away from the driveway, he had his bag full of puke and held a fist in the air as he called out to me,

"Spartaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

* * *

Take note, gentleman. I hate to use the word "wingman", but this is a true blue friend to let himself get absolutely destroyed for purely the sake of his friend meeting a girl. That's how it's supposed to be done.

Thanks, Jack.

"Great shot, kid, that was one in a million!"

The hours fucking CRAWLED by at work on Friday.

I had gotten the green light from my bosses to leave early to meet up with Bree in Santa Barbara. Bags were packed. Until I received an email informing me that a last minute meeting was scheduled for 4:30.

I would have to wait. Some higher power was really making me work on that whole "patience" thing.

As soon as the meeting ended, I got in my car and picked up Jack from his house. Once we got out of the Los Angeles traffic and onto the open road, we cranked up Bad Religion's "Los Angeles is Burning"; a staple song of ours we rock out to when we anticipate good things from the evening.

We pulled into the beautiful, beach side town of Santa Barbara and tried to locate the hotel. Fortunately, Jack and I were arriving in town around the same time as Bree, but we weren't to meet up until 9:30. Jack and I had some time to kill.

We decided to walk to the local 7-11 to pick up a six pack, something to calm the nerves a bit before heading out to dinner.

I sat at the edge of the queen size bed with my feet dangling and Jack sat across from me. We had an hour. At one point, we both started cracking up; the realization just hit us:

It was a Friday night, we were sitting in a dingy hotel, in a town we've never been to, sipping on Coors Light while waiting to meet a girl who I met online through blogging.

My stomach was flip flopping when it was time to walk to the restaurant. Jack and I chugged the last of our six-pack, zipped up our jackets and headed out. The restaurant was on a pier and as we walked, Jack turned to me and asked:

Jack: What are the chances we end up in one of those docked boats by the end of the night?
So@24: I don't even want to think about it.

Meeting Bree for the first time, there was nothing really surprising or shocking. I had already been talking to her for a month and I knew what she looked like. Dinner with her and her friends felt comfortable; like these are the people I would have been friends with in college anyway. She was just as pretty as she was in pictures and funny as she was in our phone conversations.

The rest of the evening coasted smoothly for the most part. Jack and I followed Bree and her friends around to various bars in Santa Barbara. Pints were downed and shots were shot.

We were having a lot of fun, but understandably her attention was divided among many people. And Bree is not a flirty person. As the drinks piled up in my 5'3" frame, Mr. Alcohol was sloppily mashing his hands on the keyboard of my overly-analytical brain.

She never brushed a hand on my shoulder, she didn't stay particularly close to me when we walked from one bar to the next. These observations are poison to a drunk, self-admitted paranoid, bastard like myself.

I began to read into her actions (or inaction, I should say) more than I should have. The idea that perhaps this was the beginning of a friendship and not something else was starting to engulf me.
At a point in the evening, after we had just taken another round of shots, Jack pulled me aside.

Jack: You're shutting down, So. What's going on?

I zipped my jacket up all the way to the top; a bad habit that surfaces when I become extremely insecure.

So@24: I don't think she's into me. I just have that feeling.
Jack: Don't shut down. You hear me? The night is young. Do. Not. Shut. Down. On. Me.
So@24: You're right, I'm not going to let this ruin the night. We're still out having a good time.
Jack: You have a fighting chance, trust me. Come on, I'll get you a beer.

I tried to push my worries aside and enjoy the rest of the evening. Jack, Bree and I got separated from her friends at some point and went to another bar to polish off a round of jager shots (or as I say "YAY!ger"). But it was closing time and we had to head back.

At this point, the weather turned to bullshit. Bree pulled out her umbrella and I held it high as the three of us huddled underneath it, sloshing our way back to her friend's house. It didn't matter, we were soaked to the bone.

Bree changed into sweats and t-shirt while Jack and I peel off our jackets to dry them by the fire. Beers and wine were handed out and we warmed up in Bree's friend's living room sharing a few more laughs. However, the little hand was close to the 3 and the big hand at the 12 and Bree's friends said their "good nights" and retreated upstairs.

My phone vibrated. A text from Leo.

Leo: Status report.
So@24: I don't think anything is going to happen tonight. She's not flirty and when a girl isn't flirty, it means she isn't interested.
Leo: You need to have patience. Unfortunately, this isn't college anymore.

Jack followed me to the kitchen while I grabbed a beer.

Jack: Are you going to kiss her?
So@24: Are you serious? I still don't think I have a chance. Besides what do I say?
Jack: How about, "Can I kiss you?"
So@24: That sounds so fucking lame.
Jack: It works for me. Just do it.

With a quick gulp, Jack finished the last bit of his Stella. He reached into his soaked jeans and grabbed his cellphone.

Jack: Ooooh, I have to take this call. I'll be back in 10.

The twinkle in his eye told me he wasn't coming back. He was Han Solo at the end of of Stars Wars, pulling the Millennium Falcon out of the Death Star trench saying, "You're all clear, kid. Now let's blow this thing so we can all go home!"

"Wahoo!"

Off he went, and with that I turned back to Bree. She held a glass of wine in her hand, her hair pulled back in a tiny ponytail while a few raindrops dripped off the longer strands. She looked radiant.

I threw back my beer and set the bottle on the coffee table. "You better be right about this, Jack," I thought to myself.

"Can I kiss you?"

* * *

And here, dear readers, is where I must bid you farewell on this tale. Perhaps further details will emerge down the road, but again, I'm still trying to do the whole Tao of the Cucumber thing. It's been extremely difficult, trust me.










* title of the post taken from a Star Wars quote. For those readers who don't share the same level of nerd-dom as me.

You said it, Kevin McCallister.

My backpack is loaded with the essentials:

• A clean shirt for Saturday morning
• A 3/4 bottle of Maker's Mark (to calm the nerves)
  
• A stick of deodorant
  
• Two packets of tangerine flavored Emergen-C for the inevitable hangover drive back to Los Angeles (the only working hangover cure in existence besides pho)
• Two bottles of Vitamin Water (again, for the hangover)
  

I pick up Jack in a few hours and we're taking the 101 straight West.


Here we go.

*














*I know I have used this before, but it's too perfect. Besides, it was written in 2007. No one remembers that.

Sadomasochistic Teakettles

Jack: What did everyone get into this weekend? I've got time for some fucked up stories.
Leo: Which I'm thinking have merit, considering her requests for some, uh, violent... physicalness... in bed.
Jack: Crazy? Violent? Tell me more.
Leo: She wanted to be hit.
Jack: That. is. wow.
Leo: Not with a closed fist, but more like a slap.
Jack: Like where?
Leo: Ass mostly. She asked for it on the face once.
So@24: ...
So@24: ...
So@24: I bought a teakettle at Target this weekend.
Leo: Needless to say, I freaked the fuck out. It got too close for missiles, I switched to guns.
Leo: By which I mean: it's masturbation from here on out. Which by the way, I woke up the next morning to her doing to herself right next to me. It felt like that scene in American Beauty with Annette Bening waking up to Kevin Spacey squealing one off.
So@24: I was going to get the one for $11.99, but decided to take caution to the wind and get the one for $17.99.
Jack: Leo, I miss you.

Bikes and Booze

I was still working late on Friday when my coworker informed me there would be a party at her place.

I decided it would be best if I dropped my car off at home and pedaled my bike to her party.

The sole purpose being so I could get really drunk and not worry about driving home.

Doy.

Of course, there's nothing quite like making an entrance by strutting into a crowded room with a bike helmet under one arm with a Spongebob Squarepants sticker plastered to the front.

"Hey ladies."

The company at the party was a lot of fun. I ended up downing quite a few voda-crans and then joining in for a few group tequila shot rounds. Gotta get drunk and make friends sometimes.

Do you ever end up at a party and get stuck talking to someone extremely obnoxious? Someone who is way more drunk than you are? Yep, that was me toward the end of the night.

I somehow got stuck in the hallway entertaining this random party guest. My mind kept wandering and I kept fading in and out of the conversation. I think it's because she had this really high pitched voice and kept talking uncomfortably close to my face. For some reason, she felt that I was the best choice out of every person at the party with whom to have a conversation about her boy troubles with.

The only part I really remember her telling me was something about how this guy wasn't interested in her:

"And for some reason he just instantly shut off! I was like, "What the fuck?!" But then I discovered out he was a Libra and I'm a Leo, so I was like, DUH! Of course it was never going to work out! It totally made sense after that."

I smiled and nodded politely taking a sip off my alcoholic concoction, but really I was thinking:

"The reason why he didn't like you was because you're a screeching close-talker, who actually fucking believes in horoscopes."

I eventually couldn't put up that charade any longer and excused myself to play some Rock Band 2. As the evening progressed, the more I became "that guy" at the party who hogs the Rock Band. At point, when someone wanted to hear AFI's "Girls Not Grey", I demanded that someone hold the microphone up to my mouth while I played guitar so I could do both.

95% singing on Hard difficulty and 90% guitar on Medium. No biggie.

...

I wonder if I'll ever meet a girl where I can say shit like that and it will impress her.

I'm not counting on it.

This is serious shit.

When the party was winding down at around 2 or 3, I hopped (drunkenly) on my bike and put a call into Bree. She was fairly tipsy as well, but we had a pretty damn entertaining conversation for the remaining hour (or so) while I attempted to aim my bike straight riding home. So, even if she did read that post, I think I'm in a good place still.

We'll see.

* * *

It looks like I wasn't the only one experimenting with biking and boozing. A conversation with my friend Jack later that night:

So@24: So how was your night?
Jack: Pretty good. I'm pretty hammered right now though and I had to come home early to keep from going home with Ashley which was about the hardest thing I've had to do in awhile.
So@24: ...
Jack: So I chained my bike to my bookshelf to keep me from being a weak bastard and changing my mind and going over there.
So@24: That's about the saddest thing I've ever heard.
Jack: Well I'm into this other girl now and I don't want to blow it. So I called Ashley earlier today and broke it off.
So@24: Wait a fucking tick... you broke it off with this Ashley girl earlier today. You saw her at a party LATER that night and she still wanted to sleep with you?
Jack: Well. Yes I suppose, but it's not as weird as you're making it sound.
So@24: And you found it necessary to chain your bike up to keep you from having sex with this girl even though you JUST slept with her? That's like Odysseus ordering his men tie him to the mast of ship and to keep him from swimming to the Sirens.
Jack: That was LAST Friday. And I'm drunk.
So@24: I hate you.

I Think It's Time for a Zach Morris' Time Out

"TIME OUT"

Remember when Zach Morris in Saved by the Bell used to do that? Everyone would freeze and he would approach the camera, breaking the fourth wall, to give his opinion when shit was getting a little too real at Bayside High?

I need to use use one of those right about now.

* * *

Whew.

I'm beginning to see the price in having a completely, 100%, honest blog about my "dating" life. It completely drains you emotionally.

When you do a "juicy" or controversial post like the one I did yesterday, you can expect to get a spike in both blog hits and blog comments. Comments that are pretty fucking harsh. It almost makes you want to throw up your hands and not continue to write. I either read these and think to myself, "Did you even read what I wrote?" or "Why are these people even reading?"

However, these comments are also balanced by the good ones. The readers who come out from the woodwork and actually will leave an extremely heartfelt, thoughtful, constructive comment or spend time to send me an email. One with genuine concern. It's a little reminder about one of the best perks of blogging.

So, thank you.

* * *

I feel like I need to clarify some things about the voice my blog in direct relation to the response I got from yesterday's post.

I wasn't trying to ask the girl's hand in marriage.
I wasn't trying to go steady with the girl.
I wasn't trying to sleep with the girl.
I wasn't trying to fondle her lady bits.
I wasn't trying to play sleep over (although I'm confident she'd build an excellent pillow fort)
I wasn't trying to force my way into her weekend plans.

Please give me some credit here, I'm not an idiot.

I just thought she was a genuinely cool person who I wanted to meet in person. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting a lot of quality people in recent years... so when you happen to come across one: you want to see what it's all about.

I'm an average guy who has average thoughts who happens to write them down in a public forum for the sole purpose of entertainment. No, I don't get paid for it. No, I don't get laid because of it.

Leo, of course, had thoughts on his own. I won't write them all down here, but he did have this sage advice to give in a way only Leo can:

Long and the short--I think you've got to be more patient. Rome wasn't built in a day. There's that old weird science fact--you drop a frog into boiling water, it'll hop out, lightly blanched. But put it in warm water and slowly raise the temperature...it boils alive. Basically, I think you should boil Bree alive.

She will learn in due time that you are charming, funny, witty, and most of all, completely genuine and a genuine sweetheart. I can't believe I just wrote that.

Anyway, too much too fast isn't good. You always say you're not a patient man, but dude, you have got to become one.

However, an email from Jack, was something I felt held a little more weight... or at least I felt that he understood me better. I guess you can be the judge:

As much as you consult and seek opinions etc. I think deep down you usually retain the option and end up doing what ever the fuck you want regardless of what we say.

There is no one correct way to pick up and meet girls, everyone has to evolve their own process and method. The problem with game, in my experience, is that it's what one uses to finesse a pick-up/hook-up that lacks sufficient chemistry to run on it's own. One essentially acts like someone they really aren't, and the flip-side is you can't act surprised when the girl you then end up with is a bad fit/the kind of girl that would date the person you were pretending to be.

Sometimes game is useful to get past the awkward nervous parts like the initial pick-up, but at the end of the day, the more you can just be you with a girl from day 1, the better you're gonna be down the road.

I write all of this to say that you seem intent on doing it your way and I don't begrudge you that. You think you've figured out something that works, so embrace it. While I guess, statistically, you're going to meet with less broad success, maybe your targeted results will be better. Regardless, you're committed now, so might as well play this one out.

He's right. I don't keep myself up til wee hours of the morning, with a pencil tucked behind my ear, three different colored highlighters in hand, pouring over books like The Game.

I go with my gut and what I feel is right. My theory is, if the girl is "weirded out", than I filtered out the one who wasn't ever going to work out in the long run anyway.

I can only be me.

* * *

The misinterpretation from a lot of readers yesterday is rooted back to an even larger issue about my blog (or maybe my writing style isn't doing its job by being effective in communicating).

I rarely censor my blog. And I there's a part of me that's has a sense of pride about that fact. I think that's why people read it. It's unabashed and I try to stay true to that. I write about whatever comes into my head or whatever I am experiencing at that specific moment in my life as it happens; specifically about my dating life.

I don't retell stories of the past (very rarely) and I don't make up stories when ye' olde blogging material be slow (and yes, I have been directly accused of doing this).

But because I just write about whatever comes into my head, I think that people read into it and take things more seriously than I actually do in "the real world".

And maybe Leo is right. Maybe with me being too loyal to the creed of my blog, I sacrifice some of my well-being in my real life.

Time in.

Chutes and Lad-Her's

A few emails have popped up in my inbox asking me, "Are you really as okay as you sound in your response?"; referring to when my ex girlfriend dropped the news on me that she started seeing someone seriously.

To be honest, I'm actually strangely calm about it. This will be the second relationship she has been in since our break up (that's a total of 3 relationships for Lynn, if you're keeping count) and her revealing it to me this time is astronomically better than the first time around!

That being said, am I going to invite her new guy out to join me for a couple of suds, go in for a bro hug, and bond over "Have you tried this one on her?" stories? Probably not. But I meant everything I said to her in my email back to her and I do wish her well.

Lynn and I have talked a couple of times since she informed me about her new relationship. She'll subtly try and slide him into the conversation ("He came over for dinner the other night" or "... and since I'm kind of seeing someone now..."), but I refuse to take the bait. I think that she wants to tell me about him, like any friend would want to when they are still in that honeymoon stage of new relationships.

I'm sure she wants me to ask questions and have me be interested, as any good friend should. But, I just can't bring myself to indulge her and urge her to tell me more about him. I'm still very much an "ignorance is bliss" kinda guy. I'd rather delay for as long as I can the fact that some day, I'll have to eventually learn his name, what he looks like, and all other details until that come with knowing someone.

I mean for this to be a segue to something I've found myself struggling with, these past couple of weeks. I've found myself comparing where I'm at in the romance department with everyone around me. Probably not healthy and I know that I gain nothing from this, but I've discovered that it's force that I can't stop!

For example... Leo, who makes a conscious effort to keep his toe out of the dating pool, gets set up by a friend to a cocktail party with a very attractive girl. A cute blind date (although if you mention the D-word within earshot of Leo, he'll fight it tooth and nail) who he ends up having uninhibited, drunken sex within the very first night of meeting her!

God, I miss drunk sex.

Jack happens to mentions in conversation, that at a party, he made out with a girl in her car. I'm barely able to focus on any of the other details about the party as I am completely baffled how he can be so damn casual about this! To him (and the rest of the world, it seems), it's like a fucking to-do list one would quickly scribble on a notepad on a lazy Sunday afternoon:

1. Pick up milk, eggs, and jar of sweet pickles
   
2. Drop off a package to Aunt Silvia at the post office
   
3. Meet girl at party, follow her to car and make out
   
4. Walk the neighbor's border collie

People are still making out in cars??

God, I miss making out in cars.

And out of complete boredom (and maybe a pinch of masochism), I've clicked through Facebook profiles of my old high school acquaintances and said through gritted teeth, "This fucking guy better not have a cute girlfriend" and when this indeed turns out to be the case, I quickly close out the window in bitter frustration.

I just reread that. I'm disgusted with myself.

I know I'm not being fair to myself by trying to compare where I'm at on the game board of romance to those around me. But, fuck! I keep landing on the damn chutes and everyone else is climbing ladders.

But what we know to be good for us and actually acting on it, often times we find that it isn't a union that comes easy. I'm finding myself more and more obsessed with the "when is it my turn?!" mentality.

"I've paid my dues!" is all I can whine about though. I should be happy that my best friend is breaking his dry spell and sleeping with hot girls on Date One. And good for my buddy Jack for bringing it back to the roots and coppin' a feel in a motor vehicle.

I really am okay with where Lynn is at now. As okay with it as I can be as an ex boyfriend of six years.

I think that when I am steadily seeing someone (or at the very least, having sex consistently!) I will be even more "okay". Maybe even able to have full conversations about it like real friends do.

I just can't do it feeling like I'm such a loser for being so far behind, awkwardly adjusting and readjusting my position in the starting block while she is near the finish line about to enjoy having a giant victory tub of Gatorade poured on her.

A Tale of Two Dudes: Pt. 2

Welcome to Part 2 of the dating debate between my friends Leo and Jack.

I'm gonna go grab a hot dog and a giant foam finger while these guys wrap this beast up with their closing arguments...

On the side lines,
So@24

* * *

Leo

I feel like it doesn't take much to get an decent idea of someone's personality. In a remarkably short period of time, you get the feel for their humor, intelligence, manner, etc. From that one encounter you can extrapolate where they lie on your own personal rubric. This is the founding principle of speed-dating: 1 minute per person, high-turnover, maximized results. Also the basis for Malcolm Gladwell's "Blink".

If we're talking about some cute girl I have never spoken to, exchanged a glance with, or otherwise interacted, then yes, there's no way to know if she's the lady of my proverbial dreams. However, asking someone with whom we've never interacted on a date never happens.

You're introduced, you engage in conversation, even strike up a tentative friendship. It can be hours or weeks before a date is proposed. Now, what if you got the impression that hey, while this girl is fun, cool, etc.,there was something just not... there. Call it what you will--spark, chemistry, whatever. For me, if it's not there, I forgo the date. That may be presumptuous, but I haven't proven myself wrong.

Basically, I know what I want. Or more accurately: when I find what I want, I know it. It hits me like a ton of bricks. Until then, dates are superfluous. Simply put--it's spending time, money, and energy finding out something I already knew. And I should add, wasting the girl's time, energy, and money as well.

Regarding converting a girl who's a friend to an NSA* partner - It's true that NSA sex via drunken drunkery is dying off at this age. Yes, one must change with the times, and yes, I'd rather be having drunkery sex with a girlfriend. However, I would rather not have sex than involve myself in a dating situation where I know I'm not into a girl, and yet in order to bone, I'm going through the motions of dating. That'd be disingenuous, and it can lead to sticky situations, especially when it becomes necessary to extricate yourself from it.

And that's the Leo Way--there's a cute girl I'm attracted to but not totally sold on, we become friends, there's some sexual tension, and before it's acted on, I make it clear beforehand it is what it is--physical fun. Often a girl just wants to get hers, and we have a mutual agreement. If they want more than just physical, then the brakes go on (delicately), thereby avoiding a very sticky situation down the road and remaining decent friends.

This is often not the case with a dating situation--it ends, the friendship ends. I'd rather preserve the friendship and lose the sex, instead of lose the sex and the friendship along with it.

Jack

It occurs to me that it's going to be impossible to prove absolute "right" vs. wrong in what is essentially I suppose a matter of opinion.

So I'll reiterate that you are of course entitled to your point of view, but I will say also, that I think this is a good recipe for sitting out a lot of what might be very pleasurable experiences in your life on a principle that seems to assume dating is necessarily this all-serious means to the end of finding "the one."

Dating, I think, life, if we're getting deep about it, isn't about the end result: you're gonna get married just like you're someday gonna die, but rather the experience you have on the way there is what matters. I'd also point out that this mindset you're trying to sell me as selectivity is one seemingly based upon really jaded assumptions about something (dating) that is ultimately supposed to be fun. It isn't obvious to me how when given the alternative choice, one would choose to see such a subjective (and again, potentially enjoyable) thing as negative.

Now, that said, I think you've gotta do what you feel is right and at the end of the day there's a fundamental flaw in me trying to tell you how you "should" feel about dating. And really I don't think you all the way believe what you're defending anyway, nor are you (or I for that matter) here with a willingness to have your opinion changed, so it's a bit of a moot point.

I think like me, you enjoy the challenge of trying to justify your point of view and you're intelligent enough that you could probably just as ably surround whichever other side of the debate you were assigned. So there's my big cop-out ending. BUT I'd be willing to bet that if you took the next three potential dates in front of you, you'd be a happier man for the trouble.

Leo

Valid points and yes, this is undeniably a matter of preference and opinion. I really don't think you'd be happy working it my way, and I wouldn't be necessarily happy working it yours. I will say this--I don't think dating is unpleasant. There were dates in college with girls other than the one I ended up with. I have dated, albeit not in a long time, and it is (you're right) a pleasant experience save for a few bad eggs. Dating is fun, sometimes a lot of fun--that I agree with.

However, pleasure is a linear scale, and the average date I'd stick around a respectable 7.6. Truth be told, I'd rather be kicking it with my fellas discussing the finer points of True Lies over beers. I've always been male-centric, I've always enjoyed the company of my nearest and dearest, and until that abates (perhaps by the arrival of a girl who wows me), it's going to take precedence of dating every time. I'm a guys guy, balls to bone. I simply enjoy you fools more.

Again, remember I'd love to date a girl who impressed me. That's exciting. Alas they don't come 'round that often (perhaps a reflection of me and my proclivities, not of the female populace).

So yes--I agree. Life isn't about the end result. Truer words have not been spoken. I'm in no rush--I'm not looking for The One.... I haven't even figured out if I want a girlfriend right now. And yes, the experience you have "on the way" is what matters, absolutely. For me though, I'd rather spend it with my closest friends than at a restaurant with someone I'm lukewarm about.

Fin.

* No Strings Attached, 'member?

A Tale of Two Dudes: Pt. 1

Let me start off first by saying that I know I've done a title already playing off Charles Dickens' masterpiece. But I couldn't think of anything else. My b.

From time to time, I usually post direct quotes or lines of dialogue between myself and two of my good friends Leo and Jack. I do it, because they both have much more experience with woman than I do. Besides, they are both very well written, well spoken and have a lot of good things to say.

Both of my buddies do very well with members of the opposite sex. Similar builds, similar features... hell, they even usually will agree in the attractiveness of other girls.

However, they differ greatly in how they go about dating. Leo is extremely passive (even prides himself on this fact) while Jack is much more proactive (almost to the point where he'll almost willing to try anything to the point of self-delusion). I find myself unable to contribute in their debates, so I sit back with a giant Slurpee and nod a lot; usually finding valid points in both their arguments.

I thought I'd let you be the judge. Leo and Jack had a friendly debate the other night and I thought I would share it.

You might view these posts as a cop out. However, I find that they show a unique insight into conversation that goes on between your average, everyday single males.

You won't hear much from me. Because, well, what the hell do I know about "dating" and "women"?

Enjoy,
So@24

* * *

Jack

Who hates dating though?

Leo

-Raises hand-

Jack

Dates are largely pleasurable experiences, they aren't all bank-braking, duck feasts where you have to have sex with an undesirable afterward.

Leo

I think this is where you and I differ.

Unless the date is with someone I'm totally sold on, it is, for all intents and purposes, a fantastic way to waste time and money. Time, money, and to a lesser degree effort are commodities I value highly-- I'd rather spend them on friends than on lukewarm dates.

If I'm not playing for keeps, I'd rather scrimmage with buddies.

Jack

But short of knowing and being friends with your potential date forever and ever (which is just as much a waste of time) how do you know if you're excited about someone if you don't go out and engage them in a cage match [date]?

Leo

Simple-- cage matches are unnecessary. For me, a cursory meeting with a girl gives me all the appropriate knowledge to make an accurate compatibility judgment call. I have met a few-- and I mean 2, maybe 3-- girls in the last 4 years that I was genuinely impressed by to the point of date-consideration. Beyond that, I can tell immediately that no matter how hard I peddle, it ain't ever gonna get off the ground.

Friendships, on the other hand, require comparatively little work. There are no strings attached. They work when they need to, and can lay fallow as well.

Jack

I just feel like there's no greater rush than going headfirst into some kind of unknown territory and just seeing what happens. Best case scenario you get surprised, worst case scenario I feel like you're getting valuables reps so that you've got your shit together when the big games come.

I mean, would it be the worst thing in the world to acknowledge that you are a single person interested in spending time with another single person toward either:

1. Some kind of deeper relationship
2. Some wonderfully carnal, yet meaningless sex?

Leo

And therein lies the catch-- for you, it's an unknown territory. For me... well, I wouldn't say it's known-- I don't know what the lay of the land completely looks like, but I know there sure as shit ain't oil there. Sure, there may be some cool fishing holes and some nice natural vistas, but that does not a superpower make.

Invariably, my supposition is realized-- they've got some great qualities, but ultimately aren't for me. Basically a date with someone I'm not totally sold on would never lead to 1. a deeper relationship, although of course it may lead to 2. However, I've managed over the years to hone NSA* sex to an art that make Sun Tzu blush. So accomplishing 2 through dating is really a moot point.

Jack

But how are you supposed to get "totally sold" on somebody you don't already know? You show up for dates in order to hear a pitch. E.g. "This is what I've got to offer, please tell me what you have to offer."

Also, what girl worth the time is going to get "totally sold" on you from a distance if you don't attempt to interface with her one on one?

I would argue that NSA sex via drunken drunkery is an outmoded and quickly closing window for men like us in the post college era. Converting friends to "partners" is:

1. abusing a non-renewable resource and...
2. not nearly as exciting because if they were so great in the first place, why be friends with them instead of "partners"?

Curtain.
Part 2 on Friday.

* No Strings Attached

Taking a Second Look

I loathe going to the post office, but a pink slip I received in my mailbox brought me to one on a sunny Saturday afternoon.

The slip notified me that the post office had a package for me, but it was too large to fit into my mailbox. I would have to pick it up in person.

The government worker behind the counter looked miserable to be working on the weekend. No surprise there.

Post Office Lady: Here's your package. Looks like you have a friend in Ireland.
So@24: ... Ireland, you say?

I tossed the beat up box in the passenger seat and made my way home. At red lights, I'd raise an eyebrow and sneak a glance at the Irish package.

I placed the package on my living room table and took a seat on the couch. The poor box had a rough trip over the Atlantic, but luckily the box INSIDE that box was unharmed. It was decorated in panels of a Spider Man comic (wow, she remembered).

Caitlin had placed a random assortment of candies and knick-knacks inside. A box of Irish tea, two bags of Irish sweets "clove rocks" and "sour apple balls" that proudly advertised "Handmade in Ireland", a giant rubber centipede who went by the name of Cyril, and a few Aero Bars just to name a few.

A wave of emotions came over me as I investigated each of the box's contents one by one. It has been quite sometime since I really thought about Caitlin for a prolonged period of time. Ever since I discovered that she thought I had "the wrong idea" about how she felt about me, I would turn pink with humiliation and was quick to change subjects whenever anyone asked me her whereabouts.

Or I said she died in a devastating explosion when her car crashed into a gas station.



I would have to explore the rest of the box at a later time, I needed to stop by the bookstore to visit Jack.

Stepping into Skylight, I made my way to the childrens' books. Jack wore a scarf. I made a mental note to make fun of him later, there were more important things on the docket to discuss.

Jack: Well hello.
So@24: I got a package from Irish Caitlin.
Jack: No shit. How do you feel about that?
So@24: I'm not sure yet. It brought up a lot of old shit... it's weird. I still feel stupid and that I was duped somehow. How did I read that wrong, you know? It's fucking scary when you can't trust your own instincts.
Jack: From what you've told me, it doesn't sound like you misread anything. You were doing all the right things. She might have just freaked out. It happens all the time without explanation. Look at me.

I put what Jack said in the back of mind until I returned home much later that evening. I grabbed the box from the table and made my way to my bedroom. I crawled into bed and continued my investigation.

At the very bottom of the box was a relatively thick stack of journal-size pages bound together by tiny clothing pins. Back in the early days of Caitlin, she had taken a trip to Madrid for a few weeks. She had hand written mini-notes to me almost every day of her trip. Her handwriting was like a font of its own and she doodled all over the pages. She discussed her day, her thoughts and went off on random tangents (or what she calls "waffling").

I sat in my bed and read all 44 handwritten pages and for a moment, fell for her all over again. I found myself actually chuckling out loud and smirking like an idiot at her completely random string of thoughts and sketches. She even made a mini collage of all of our inside jokes.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

I closed the Spidey-decorated box and put it aside when I finished reading. I thought about what Jack told me in the bookstore.

Maybe it was time to look at my brief time with Caitlin in a different light. I learned an extremely valuable lesson from her. For a very long period of time (and I still get this way on occasion), I thought that no one else would be able to stir up the kind of giddy emotion that can only come from a member of the opposite sex. I didn't think anyone would make me laugh like my ex-girlfriend Lynn. That a cute girl would actually pay me any attention. Although nothing ever materialized, Caitlin brought me out of that dark moment... if only very briefly.

Someone ELSE besides my ex-girlfriend could do those things. There was hope.

She burned me, there's no doubt about that. But maybe it's time for me to stop being bitter about never knowing "what happened" and get over my obsession of always having to have the answer. Time to stop beating myself up over not reading the signals right and focus on the positive aspects.

Who the fuck knows what girls are thinking anyway? Every other guy in the history of time has complained about complexities of the female brain, why did I think I was so special to sidestep it?

The Origins

Jack: The thing about Fear Street was, they'd trick you into buying them by having some sexy looking evil girl on the front showing a bunch of cleavage.
So@24: Bantam Books totally got me with subliminal messaging. Where do you think my love of boobs came from?

Thank you, RL Stine.

Moves Make the Man

So@24: One of my classic moves in college was finding a random girl at a party, licking my thumb and rubbing it across her forehead.

And then I'd go, "Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimba."

Jack: How that didn't get you laid is beyond me.

To Be a Mushroom

I walked into the bookstore to pick up a few things and catch up with my friend Jack who was working . While I had Jack check to see if they had a particular book in stock, we started talking:

So@24: Have you heard from Leo? He didn't come back last night.
Jack: I thought he went with you to that wrap party?
So@24: Well, I went home, he went to his boss's concert.
Jack: Oh that's right. He went with Succubus.*
So@24: No. Way. Don't say he went slept with the Succubus.
Jack: I can't confirm or deny these claims. That's something you'll have to take up with ol' Leo yourself.

A conversation much later with Leo resulted in my worst expectations coming true. Motherfucker got too drunk and couldn't keep his springy snake in that fake can of peanuts.

So@24: What the fuck are you thinking, man? Really? Succubus. Really??
Leo: What can I say? I got drunk. And it was the 3 week pinch.

As I shook my head in disgust, I got to thinking...

It's not really his fault. There was a point in time where I would have compromised all my integrity and slept with someone I loathed just because I knew her chest lovlies would produce an epic motorboat.

There was a time when I suffered from the worse case of dry eyes ever, because I was staring at the ceiling, gripping the shit out of my pillow BEGGING for someone other than myself to get my rocks off.

But I realized it's almost been two years since anything remotely close has happened.

And I really could give two shits.

Okay that's a bit hasty. I mean, I'm not a complete idiot... I want it, and when it happens (God, please let it happen again, sometime) it would be like the clouds parted, a heavenly beam shone down on me and I was lifted if only a few inches off the ground. Angels would play their harps. Naked. Sexy angels. Sexy, busty, angels.

But I don't have that same incessant craving like I once did. I'm not some maniac that thinks I might actually cease to exist like one of the victims on Unsolved Mysteries if I don't get mine.

It's like a smoker trying to describe what it's like to a non-smoker what it's like to need that puff of a cigarette. I simply have no frame of reference to reflect back on. It's just been too long.

When you've been used to consistent... "access" for a steady four years, and your supply line suddenly gets cut... you panic. You panic as if there was a sudden zombie invasion.

But when you're single and it's just been too long; it suddenly doesn't become a priority. You're willing to hold out for someone who is attractive AND isn't a complete soul, sucking, demon. Maybe it's nature's way of making sure that single people like myself aren't taking their own lives. It ensures the survival of a species.

I've become the mushroom.

That asexual mushroom.






* Succubus is Leo's ex-girlfriend. And I don't have a lot of secret fantasies where I want to set someone on fire and when they beg for me to put them out I wouldn't even urinate on them, but she's definitely at the top of the list. She sucks. Trust me.

Big Step.

I just returned from the 7-11 down the street during my lunch break.

I have in my hands a calling card.

I'm nervous as fuck.



Jack: We'll put some whiskey in the back of your throat and I'm sure you'll be leaving her rap-voicemails in no time.

The Good Stuff

Jack had never heard about the epic and heroic tale of my first kiss with Lynn. So after I filled him in and waited for him to wipe the tears away from his face, we had this convo...

Jack: Still though, best feeling in the world.
So@24: Totally.
Jack: God. If you could buy that feeling on the street, I'd be strung out on it 24-7. I hope that's a feeling you get to keep having when you're older.
So@24: Me too. There's nothing quite like it.
Jack: I don't think I've had a kiss like that, where I felt like my life was on the line, since 2005.

...

Now kissing is just kissing.
So@24: Definitely one of those things where if I could relive it again (despite how humiliating it was), I would. Even after knowing where we'd end up.
Jack: Jesus, I know. It's usually on the doorstep. You're heart is going crazy in your chest, she goes inside after and you damn near do a flip walking back to your car.
So@24: You might even pull out the one knee to the ground, fist pump.
Jack: When it's true. It's true. Fuck aging, man. God, I hope I have at least one more of those in front of me.
So@24: I had that half smile going on when I was recapping it for you. You think it's gonna come back?
Jack: I think it does. It's just rare, which is why it's so damn great.
So@24: That's the good stuff.

Grenade Jumper, I ain't

A funny thing I noticed about Leo. Whenever he's planning on hooking up with a girl, he makes his bed. Most of the days, his bed looks like mine... a pathetic, wrinkled comforter strewn haphazardly across the mattress.

Shaving, showering, hair cuts, changing clothes... these are aren't nearly as important as tucking in his linens and arranging his pillows in a perfect, symmetrical fashion.

Reminds me of when male birds clean their nests to court female birds. I feel like I study the habits of my roommate as a single male much like Jane Goodall did with the chimpanzee. I jotted on my notepad, "Maybe I should start making my bed."

But unfortunately for my roommate, this was the first time I saw him make his bed and have it not be "used" within a 24 hour period. Here's why...

***

Leo's had his scope on this one girl, but her friend "that shitty girl" is always at her side when they come over. So guess who has to deal with her? I suppose at this point I should give her a name, since I've blogged about her enough. I held it off because I didn't think she'd be around long enough to merit an alias. -sigh- Alright, fine. Let's call her Sherry.

Not only am I not physically attracted to "shitty girl", but having a conversation with her is absolutely painful. It's excruciating. You ever know someone who is "totally into art" and wants to "meet creative minds"? For the record, anyone who says they want to meet "creative minds" is full of shit.

Sherry sits down and pulls up a seat right next to her. "Come here, So@24. Sit down here and tell me something fascinating!"

What the fuck does that even mean? I look to Jenny to save me from this convo. She's busy bouncing quarters into glasses. Figures.

I take a seat and she props her head on her knuckles and smiles (why is that annoying the shit out of me??).

So@24: Where's your drink?

Sherry looks at me like I just asked her the most absurd, out-of-the-blue question anyone has ever received.

Sherry: Why do I need a drink? I don't need to drink to have a conversation.
So@24's Inner Monologue: Ahhh, I should have expected an awkward response from you. Kudos. Kudos. You aren't drinking? You're not the DD? Well, then why did you come to a party??

***

Fast forward to after the bars. It feels like college again. Everyone is hanging out in my room, drinking beers, and iTunes is blaring Toto's "Africa". Jack is laying game on my friend Jenny. Leo is laying his game on his girl. And then there is Sherry. There's absolutely no way I'm going to grenade jump for Leo. Under different circumstances (e.g. him never knowing the warm embrace of a woman, me having an entire bottle of Jaeger, etc.) I would have considered it.

But nope. Not gonna happen. Homeboy can fend for himself on this one.

It's getting late. Sherry is getting a little... ballsy. Leo's girl and Sherry are both laying on my bed, but Sherry at one point wraps her legs around my torso... while I'm standing. Why can't this ever happen with girls that I'm interested in?

So@24 tears off shirt, drops to knees and looks to the heavens: Why!? Whyyyyyyyyyyyy!?

I felt like Dirk the Daring getting crushed by tentacles wrapped around me.

back the eff up, son

Enough's enough. Time to go. Leo's girl does not end up staying the night. Why? She would have, but she has to take Sherry home, of course! Jack leaves. Jenny stays.

Jenny: Can I borrow a pair of boxers and a t-shirt?

Whoa. I have not had to give a girl a pair of boxers and a t-shirt since, God knows how long. But man, it's been awhile.

I drunkenly fumble through some drawers, but one rule I remembered! I found a shirt and a pair of boxers that I really don't like that much, in case she runs off with them. I toss her my green pair of boxers that's design is spattered with burgers and fries.

Jenny:: You only have one pillow!
So@24: Oh right. Uh... Leo? Some help, buddy?

Of course, I only have one pillow. Lynn took her's!

A pillow is thrown from Leo's door frame.

We immediately passed out like kittens, absolutely PLATONIC, of course... it's what good friends do.