floorpie

If I don’t have enough time now, how am I supposed to then?
I know! That’s what I’m saying. Craziness.

So the thing about dating a lot is that it might make you feel like a winner when you’re exaggerating your stories later to your guy friends, but during the actual act(s) it can get to just be damn near exhausting and empty.

OK, that’s not true. During the actual acts it’s fun as hell and you do feel like the big winner here tonight.

Except for when it’s exhausting.

Which can be a lot of the time.

Because a lot of the time (and ladeez I hate to say this for fear of the repurcussions, but): hot girls don’t know how to talk. [disclaimer: this is, of course, in reference to a theoretical girl or girls with no relation to anyone I have every known past, present, or future]

*cough*

Hot girls (often) don’t know how to hold a conversation, seemingly because they’ve never had to… they’re hot. Which, you see, is where the exhausting part comes in. I should have specified, by the way, that there are two types of exhausting. The wink-wink nudge-nudge say-no-more exhausting… and the one I’m talking about.

You won’t hear me complaining about the first one.

Maybe it’s my own fault, I have this compulsion to fill in the awkward silences with witty banter and charming conversation. I know. What a fucking jerk. I’ll tell you, though, as much as I’m completely narcissistic, there’s only so much I can talk about myself before I want to throw up on my shoes. Maybe you, tall, blond, stunningly beautiful, would like to throw in a witty rejoinder of your own? Or an opinion? Hell, even a racial slur will at least raise an eyebrow.

I have this Negative Gold Standard that I think I’ve talked about before but haven’t the motivation to look it up (see “exhausted” above). It involves tis 2 and a half hour dinner and conversation in which I talked, non-stop, without a break. Not because I had anything to say. Not because the girl was incredibly enraptured. Not because I had an audience. Because this girl said nothing.
>
How’s your (whatever the hell she had)?
good

…and that’s why I love Spain. Have you been there before?
yes

…which is why in college they called me Hand-Stand *chortle chortle* How was UC(whatever)?
it was…fine

You get the idea. Excruciating. Exhausting. And sadly the norm (or some approximation of it).

When I had a series of long term relationships I think I was just really lucky to stumble upon engaging, intelligent, beautiful women that actually could pretend to like me for extended periods. Either that, or the awkward dating phases were so few and far between that I always forgot this part. Now that I’m double and tripled up it’s getting really fucking depressing.

Which, I think, is the Catch-22: you’re alone, you get depressed. you go out with a lot of people, you get depressed.

I now suddenly understand why George Clooney is still single. No wait, George Clooney is still single for an entirely different reason; and every guy reading this knows what I’m talking about. Therefore, I’ll just end it with: this is the end.

Have you ever showered in the dark before? I don’t mean showered in the near-dark with your girlfriend/boyfriend with the lights off and a few candles lit by the sink. We’ve all done that. I mean close the door, turn off the lights, in the dark.

I just did, for no apparent reason, and it’s an entirely surreal experience.

First of all, it’s (surprise!) dark. Not the same dark as when you take a shower with your eyes closed, trying to catch a few more minutes of restful half-slumber before your day really begins and you have to merge into the ever-increasing speed of daily life. In those cases, you know it’s supposed to be dark, you have your eyes closed. In this other way, though, you have your eyes open, and you see nothing, absolutely nothing. You can’t, as the saying goes, see the hand in front of your face.

Weird.

That initial time is a little bit freaky, and at the same time, a lot bit soothing. You’re in your own (dimly-lit) world, cocooned from everything outside of the shower stall. It’s calm.

Gradually, you begin to get the impression of something, a very faint glow. In time you’ll realize that it’s the shower curtain dispersing what little light there is coming in from under the door. At about this same time you’ll recognize the shape of your hand passing between this glow and your face. Turn around, though, and it’s still l inky blackness, now a bit more foreboding for being on the edge of this new existence.

More minutes pass and the magic gradually dissolves away. Now you’re just taking a shower at twilight, and all is more or less normal. This is when you start talking to yourself as if an imagined person walked into the bathroom at just that moment. “Umm, Dave? Are you in here? What the hell are you doing?” you’ll say, and laugh to yourself.

Showers in the dark: recommended.

The wheels of justice they are a-turning.

Between you and me (and just between you and me), I really don’t understand how anything gets done in today’s legal system. Everything just takes forever and a day.

I just wanted to make that comment.

Because I’ve always excelled at everything I do, yesterday I made the cut and was one of the 20% of people who get chosen from the jury trial to possibly be assigned to a trial. Today, because I continue to strive for excellence in everything I do, I was “randomly” chosen to also be amongst the first group to be evaluated to be on the jury. Meaning, if they didn’t find a problem with me being an educated white male with no financial hardship or familial commitments, I would definitely be on the jury for a criminal case involving guns, gangs, and a girlfriend.

In other words, I’m screwed.

The judge first asked the entire prospective panel, “Do you bitches see any reason why you would be unable to fulfill your civic duty impartially and fairly?” or something to that effect.

One man raised his hand in assent, and when asked to explain himself, gave some excuse about how the defendant is Hispanic, and he’s Hispanic; and how, because this trial involved an assault and he was assaulted when he was twelve that he didn’t feel that he could be impartial on a case like this.

The judge did not like this answer. What ensued was 20 minutes of basically this:

Judge: What’s your fucking problem? Is it because the defendant is black?!
Juror Number Five: No! I mean… no! I just think it would be hard to be…
J: because you got beat up when you were twelve? What’s that, like fucking 30 years ago?
JNF: Yeah well it’s just that I wouldn’t…
J: So if it’s not because the dude’s black is it because you’re too stupid to be able to put your bias aside?
JNF: Wait. What?
J: Too stupid! You’re saying that even if the State gave convincing evidence beyond a shadow of a doubt, you would still vote guilty?
JNF: Well, err…
J: Tell you what jackhole, maybe you’d be more comfortable with a civil trial. Fiduciary issues and whatnot?
JNF: Ummm
J: OK so that’s settled. Get the fuck out of here, you’ve been reassigned to the civil court.
Bailiff: Smooth move, exlax

Let that be a lesson to you all.

And then we recessed for lunch. Upon returning we had to wait… and wait… and wait… in a cold marble hallway with no chairs. I feel pseudo-asleep sitting on the floor with my head against the wall when the bailiff came out hours later. “Please return to the Jury Room, you have all been excused!”

And there was much rejoicing. Apparently, the defendant changed his plea, or the charges were dropped, or who knows what, but I’m off the hook for another year.

And Jury Number Five is reporting to civil court tomorrow morning.

I’m on my lunch break from that most hated of civic duties: jury duty. California has at least changed their policy to one day/one trial… meaning that you spend one day waiting to be put on a trial, and are either picked, or done for a year. So the stress is still there, and the mind-bending boredom of sitting in a room doing nothing, but you only have to do so for 1 day instead of 10 like it used to be.

Something like 10 years ago I was picked to be on a jury. I’m fairly sure I was only 18 or 19 and I remember being surprised that they would pick someone so young. I spent three or four days in the jury pool room doing absolutely nothing except hating my life until I was picked to be on a jury and spent two weeks hating my life even more. It was an interesting experience, and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it was incredibly tedious and reaffirmed my decision to not become a lawyer like I wanted to for a while.

Hopefully, by the end of the day, I’ll have been excused.

Have I told you that I love my job?

Probably not. After all, there’s all that stuff abotu being Dooced. You can never be too careful, naybe.

Have I told you that I’ve also been drinking? It’s Cinco de Mayon, after all; and, like Sy. Patrick’s Day, it’s a day when Americans bogart a holiday in an excuse to drink and be merry. Hopefully, the Mexicans don’t mind.

So I love my job. It;s challenging, and fun, and totally rewarding. More importantly, though, and the reason things are so kosher, is that I love the people I work with,too. HOw else could a simple drink after work (to celebrate the holiday, of course) turn into me bloggin this shclock at 3AM? There 6PM to 3AM, you’ve gotta love the people that you already spent 8 hours of work with, and then went on for another 9.

4+ margaritas, shot of Petron, 4 Rum n Cokes, shot of 1800… and a water? Something like that… I list it not to try and be a show-off (’cause it ain’t impressive) but instead to make sure that I could remember, I’ll remember that the bill was 3 bills for a while, that’s for sure.

At any rate, there was Lucy’s Adobe on Melrose, followed by Hollywood Billiards on Hollywood Blvd., and then the place made famous by Swinger’s: The Dresden.

Guess which one was my favorite.

OK, so maybe we lost a guy when he walked out the door after someone else in our party, but never actually met up with that person… or came back… or called anyone. Hopefully, the kind people of Hollywood will help him out.

More importantly, here is waht I learneed: if you see her, and she sees you, and you make eye contact and feel the vibe, GO UP TO HER. Don’t decide not to because your group is settling thebill. Fuck ’em. Trust me they’ll wait, you’re about to be as entertaining as fuck. And think of it this way: best case, you find the love of your life. Worst case, you’re your co-workers hero just for having teh cajones (Happy Cinco de Mayo) for even attempting.

I have this thing that’s common amongst guys. It’s the thing where you want the girl that you can’t have, and once you get here, you’re not as interested anymore. In fact, this might actually translate to pretty much everything in life, not just potential couplings.

Like this humongous TV that was delivered to my door today. It’s awesome, it’s beautiful, and all it does is deliver channel after channel of crap to my eyeballs. After 15 minutes of the astoundingly bad Tyra show and a Simpsons rerun, I gave up and went back to DVD’s.

>But I digress. I’ve developed this symptom of wanting the chase more than any kind of longer commitment, and then feeling the need to move on down the road if there’s even a hint of that.

I don’t think that’s necessarily bad, of course… I assume I’m just trying to find what I’m looking for; but it is relatively new. I have this good friend of mine who was fond of calling me a Serial Monogomist. I totally fucking hated this, but I really wasn’t able to argue. For a good decade or so, I went from one long-term girlfriend to the next, with no real short-term relationships. Maybe I was just lucky and happened to find someone great in consistent order. Or I was needy and pathetic.

Whatever the case, that’s definitely changed, as of late, and at least partially explains the tear I’ve been on.

I just wish it started 5 or 6 years ago.

That’s not true.

I’ve had the feeling lately, though, of wanting to slow down a little bit. You know, date oly 2 girls at a time instead of 3 or 4. That sort of thing. Nothing in my life really reflects that newly revised philosophy, but I’m at least starting to think about it.

Or I just need a nap.

The big news in the world today, other than the Denise Richards vs. Heather Locklear title bout, is that Beverage Industry Cuts Calories for School Kids

NEW YORK (Reuters) – The U.S. beverage industry has agreed to fight child obesity by cutting calories and shrinking the serving sizes of drinks sold at schools in a deal brokered by self-described former “fat kid” Bill Clinton.

Coca-Cola, PepsiCo, Cadbury Schweppes and the American Beverage Association volunteered for the program that will ban some of their best-selling products from a market of 35 million U.S. public school children.

Under the plan unveiled on Wednesday at Clinton’s New York-based foundation, the number of calories in school beverages will be capped at 100 except for certain milks and juices. By comparison, a can of regular Coca-Cola has 140 calories…

Clinton illustrated how the program could help, saying an 8-year-old who cuts 45 calories a day from his diet would be 20 pounds (9 kg) lighter by the time he or she graduates from high school.

This is something that I, for one, think has been a long time coming. Almost exactly 5 years ago I wrote a boring post about how I played basketball at a local junior high (I was there starting center *ba-dum-dum-CHING!*) and went I went in search of a water fountain, all I could find was coke machines. Hopefully, this will slowly help us lose some of that obese reputation we’ve been getting…

I’m not a big fan of Mondays… which is a little bit like saying, “I’m not a big fan of getting punched in the face.” Of course I’m not a big fan of Mondays. Who is? Coma victims who regain consciousness on Monday morning, homeless people because they don’t care what day it is, and possibly the Nielsen company for some unknown , statistical reason.

I suppose it would be more appropriate to say, “I’m not a big fan of work days”. Though I do like my job, I’d still rather be at the beach. Like those license-plate frames, “I’d rather be quilting”. I wonder about stuff like that; would the driver really rather be quilting? If (given the opportunity to do so) the person replaced the time he or she usually spends driving with quilting, would they still be having such a good time? Most likely, they would be constructing a massive quilt, fully brocaded and embroidered, with the saying “I’d rather be driving” emblazoned across the front.

I don’t actually know what “brocaded” means, but it sounded appropriate.

This weekend, I saw two movies which, if you’re anything like me at all, you will also enjoy immensely. Seeing as you’re not, though, tread carefully.

The first was Everything Is Illuminated with Elijah Wood, whom I always confuse with Tobey Maguire and vice-versa. All I will say about this is that I found myself repeating, “Many women want to get carnal with me because I am such a premium dancer.” all weekend. I don’t think I should have to say anything else to get you to want to run out and rent this movie.

The second was Me and You and Everyone We Know. This movie was just weird, and I like weird. There was a part about poop that had M laughing incredibly loud, which I also like.

Christ I suck at movie reviews. It’s a wonder I was ever able to complete a book report.

The book that I read was On the Road by Jack Kerouac. This book was published in 1959 by Viking Compass Edition. This was a very good book. I think Jack Kerouac is a very very good writer. Some parts of the book were very funny, and some parts of the book were very sad. I also thought that the book was very scary sometimes when I think about hitchhiking. I would probably recommend this book to my friends very much but I don’t know if they would like the part about hitchhiking very much.

Good thing I slept with the dean. Wait, what?