floorpie

In response to an earlier commenter, the

Reguirements to be Defined as The Girlfriend (or Otherwise Significant Other)

.: a dedicated toothbrush
.: In the case of females, tampons or other menstrual restriction products. In the case of men, I dunno, beer?
.: met and hung out with at least 75% of your close friends. This can be trumped by having met any family member
.; at least one conversation referencing a hazily-defined future time. “What are you doing this weekend?” does not qualify. “Do you want to go to Paris with me next spring?” does.
.: The exchange of goods on major holidays/anniversaries being of equal or greater value to $25USD. Exceptions can be made for items of extreme emotional value, “You went to my Mamaw’s house, found my Woobie, and had it cleaned? Thank you!!!!”
.: The big three

The rules are, of course, always in flux and open to editing. Please help me out with your own suggestions…

Day 47

Day 47 of what? Nothing, really, I just wanted to start dramatically. You know:

“Day 47 — Still no sight of land. Salted pork ran out 6 days ago and have been nibbling on the leather soles of Charlie’s shoes. Poor Charlie. To die like that so close after the news… so sad.“

Besides that, not much. Going out, staying in, doing stuff, not doing stuff. That brings you up to date.

Oh! Except for the… ah, never mind.

This weekend I rode in the MS150 ride from LA to San Diego to benefit the MS Society. 100 miles over two days blah, blah, blah. The most important thing, obviously is that we rode past the San Onofre nuclear boobs (welcome, Google hits!)

As a team of 20, we raised over $22,000; and, the event as a whole has so far reached the $2.1M mark. There’s still time to get in to fat tax deductions for those inclined, though. If so, please consider donating here.

.: Drummers do it to the beat (via mighty jimbo)

My birthday, in a word, was fan-f’ing-tastic. It was nothing too terribly exciting, no huge surprise party or sky-diving, or Ducati to show up in my front yard. BUT, a friend made me an amazing dinner that must have taken the better part of a week to put together… and the thoughtfulness of that act alone made my birthday a very good one.

Also, and I say this without exaggeration, it was quite possibly the best meal I’ve ever had in my life. Sorry mom. I’ve travelled a fair bit, I’ve been to Europe, I’ve been to Asia, I’ve been all over the U.S., to the real Mexico and Canada, and I have never had anything so good.

It was one of those instances where I knew someone was cooking for me. So, on my way home, I’m talking to myself, “OK John (I call myself John for some reason [no, not really]), no matter what it tastes like, you eat everything. Every. Thing. And you say, ‘Wow! This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted!’, even if you don’t really mean it. Be gracious.” This was my mindset. But then I get home, and there are candles, there are flowers, there are actual grown-up placemats, and beautiful dishes, and food that looked as good as it tasted… and I didn’t have to just say something to be polite, it really was that good.

And, to the best of my knowledge, no one has really cooked like that for me before. ADG of course made dinner from time to time, as did L, and any number of other past relationships and friends, but this was… it was just incredible, OK? And the amount of work that went into even just the presentation was very humbling… obviously, as I’m still talking about it 3 days later.

And my parents got me a shirt which was actually in line with my style.

And Southwest Airlines sent me a card, so that’s cool.

I think it’s important for you to know that it is my birthday tomorrow. I will be 32. I’m not asking you to get me a gift or anything, that would be rude. I’m also not going to remind you about my house burning down, the 4 times my car got rear-ended recently, or my ex-girfriend getting engaged.

I mean, really, those things have nothing to do with my birthday, right?

Mawidge

Mawidge…mawidge is what bwings us togewer today… Mawidge, the bwessed awwangement, that dweam wiffim a dweam… Ven wuv, twoo wuv, wiw fowwow you fowever..

If you’ve been following the commenting saga below at all, you know that my latest serious ex-girlfriend is engaged. For my ego, I will say recently just so that I can assume it took the maximum amount of time to get over me. This can, of course, be a fairly humbling time filled with depression and self-pity.

Luckily for me, though, I have a far more troubling issue to think about: The Trend.

What could The Trend possibly be, you ask? What could be so important so that you forget that the last person you thought you might marry is now nightly getting it from some tall dark stranger with a huge… bank account and a stiff… upper lip? The Trend is this: every “real” girlfriend I have ever had has either:

.: married the guy immediately after me, or
.: at least gotten engaged within a year and a half of our break up… but typically is actually married in less than a year.

I’ll give you a moment to let that sink in for a little bit.

OK. Every. single. girlfriend. Granted, I’m not talking about the hood-rats, I’m not talking about the what-was-your-name-agains?, I’m talking about real girlfriends with durations of at least 6 months at one extreme, and over 6 years at the other. And this reaches all the way back to high school to now, apparently, present day. Off the top of my head that means I have personally been responsible for the ultimate happiness of something like 5 girls.

That doesn’t sound like a lot, but then again that sounds like a whole HELL of a lot. This is 5 times that I’ve said ‘I love you’ and meant it. This is 5 people representing well over 10 years of my life. This is 5 people that I have found it so easy to get over me that they’re not only ready to date someone else quickly, but they’re ready to get fucking married!

I have two theories:

Theory 1 – in which I look like a douchebag
By the end of our respective relationships, I am so unbelievably awful that my ex’s are desperate to be taken out of the dating scene. Obviously, there are only psychos like me out there and the next guy that says they’re pretty without blinking is The One.

Theory 2 – in which I still look like a douchebag, but in the best possible way
I, in all my glory, leave such a gaping hole in the lives of my ex’s that the only possible way to fill it with an equally significant relationship is to actually marry someone. “Dating” leaves them wanting, “moving in” is so banal, and only the ultimate committment of marriage can even come close to approximate the depth of feeling, love, and caring they experienced when they were with me.

Yeah, I’m leaning towards number 1, too.

If, by the way, this experience has taught me anything, it’s this: date me. Ladeez, I know you’re out there, and in ever increasing numbers. You want that ring, and I’m just the man to get it for you… indirectly. Date me, tell me love you me, do things to me your mother has never heard of, and then leave me for that bright pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. ‘Cause honey, one way or another, you’re leaving here hitched.

Look, all I really want to know is where have all the cowboys gone? It’s like a Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop, the world may never know.

Contrary to popular opinion, floorpie.net, my one and faithful love, I do check on you every day. I see if anyone leaves comments (almost never), I see if you’re infected by trolls (every now and again), I see how many people have visited you (very, very few). I’m here for you, and I want you to know that. For whatever reason, I just haven’t anything post-worthy to write about… or I’ve been too busy to take the time to do it. It was unintentional though, sweetheart, and when I looked down and saw that I hadn’t talked to you for almost two weeks I felt terrible!

Hey, I had a lot of Tivo to catch up on, you know?

So enough about me, what do you think about me?

Not a whole lot has been going on, lately… which, as you know, is actually code for, “A lot has been going on, and it’s all girl related.” Things with the Thai Singer have progressed to unheard of levels of adoration to the point where I’m (apparently) out of my massively successful dating phase. I think I’m tired of that phase, and I’m glad to be out of it… which is a fairly terrifying thing to admit given my recent track record and thoughts on committed relationships.

Not that we are committed, of course, so you ladeez still have a chance. Right now we’re in that quasi I’m-not-your-girlfriend-but-I-act-like-it-stage and the I’m-not-your-boyfriend-but-I…no-longer-french-kiss-other-chicks stage.

It’s been one a half years since ADG. Funny, I’ve always subscribed to that saying that it takes half as long as you were in a relationship to get over it. I was with L for 6 almost 7 years, and it really did take me a little over 3 years before I was functional again. ADG and I were together for 3 years and now, a year a half later, I seem to be able to open myself up to longer than a couple of weeks of wild sex and instant gratification like I’ve been doing.

Wait, am I making a mistake?

camera fade, “To Be Continued…” dissolves in, holds, dissolves out. Credits roll.

I’m back. It was a good and successful trip, though I’m glad now to be home. The humidity in Huizhou was, quite literally, 95%. Ninety-five percent! Which, basically, means that water is pretty much hanging in sheets in the air. Anything further than 6-inches from air-conditioning was intolerable, and I eventually realized that the reason that I was actually dripping sweat was that it was too humid to evaporate.

Sexy.

Now, in the paradise that is SoCal, I am more thankful than ever to sit in traffic on the 405, pay outrageous rent, and be surrounded by millions of people more beautiful than I am and giving me a complex. It’s worth it.

Since my return, I’ve been watching a lot of the 9/11 coverage. I’m not ashamed to admit that the re-enactments and live testimonies have had me tearing up off an on for hours. Yesterday, it was Flight 93 and interview after interview with the victims’ wives and husbands, describing and, in some cases, playing the recorded voicemails from their lost loved ones. Everyone sounded so calm.

Today, it is recreations and interviews from people in the World Trade Center… some of which who were actually on the floors hit by the airplanes.

Watching it all again, I don’t know how to feel. I’m numb in a way, but at the same time feel horrified, sad, and angry. In a lot of ways, it’s more terrifying now than it was then.

And now? Now we are in Hong Kong (“we” being the royal “we”, of course), and therefore one step closer to home. That’s what so odd about HK… it’s China, sure, but it’s also Great Britain. English-language signs with Chinese characters mirroring the text. All manner of disgusting American fast-food. Bangers and mash if I could find it.

And, perhaps most striking of all… white people. It’s like reverse culture shock.

When you’re in China and you don’t speak the language, there are 5 things you can do. Four of them I can’t talk about here, but the 5th is watch HBO. English-language television here consists of CNN, static-riddled BBC, and HBO; which means that I have seen Lethal Weapon 2 twice, parts of Shrek 2, and decided to sit in silence and stillness instead of watching Beethoven’s…2nd.

>One thing I have watched, and with eagerness, is Entourage.