The lice actually came from my idiot brother-in-law. Nephew B picked up lice somewhere in the neighborhood. He gave it to Nephew A and Niece A, who in turn gave it to Sister and idiot Brother-in-law, both of whom were home for a whole week after Niece B arrived.
Wait. Did I forget to tell you about Niece B? Ok, my sister popped out kid #4, a perfectly healthy little girl. And since my sister wants to be the next Pope, she therefore doesn't believe in birth control, leaving that job to my idiot brother-in-law meaning she'll be preggo again by year's end.
So idiot brother-in-law had lice but didn't know it, when he got in my car and went to the racetrack outside Fort Worth with me. He was just coming up there as an observer and to keep me awake on the long drive, but when they offered a ride around the track in the professional car with the professional driver, he naturally took them up on it. Only catch was that he needed to wear a helmet for that. So I lent him mine. Then it was my turn to ride around the track (for comparison with my own driving around) with the pro, so I took the helmet back...
It was on the drive home that my sister called to tell us the good news. I never had a full-blown infestation, since I started treatment the same day I was exposed, but I treated it as such. Washed all the sheets and towels in hot water, sprayed the carpet and sofa with insecticide, and used medicinal hair gel for several days. Apart from being FURIOUS with my sister and idiot brother-in-law, it was fairly easy. But that gel dried out my scalp, which then itched, which made me paranoid that I was fully infested. Still, 4 weeks later, every time my head itches I think about little crawlies up there. Just thinking about it makes my head itch, and I bet you're scratching too.I wanted to point out how it's true what they say, that actions speak louder than words. For example, sending flowers to your woman at work as opposed to merely saying "I love you." Another example, my sister says she doesn't want to have any more kids. But she will, it's just a matter of time. So the whole actions vs. words thing can go both ways, good or bad. You can tell someone that you support every decision they make, but if they tell you that at age 35, 140 lbs, they want to become an Olympic gymnast, and you initially chuckle, that's what they'll remember. And they'll blame you for not doing it. Never mind if they never finished anything else they ever started, whether it's learning to play the banjo, taking a loom-weaving class, or mastering vegan Inuit cooking. The important thing is having you to blame.Something else that I've been thinking about lately is apologies. I was actually thinking about it before I saw it, because something similar happened to me recently, but the issue came up on the season finale of Ugly Betty. [SPOILER ALERT] Betty kinda-sorta cheated on her boyfriend but couldn't decide whether to tell him about it or not. She eventually came to the conclusion, which I think agree with, that telling him something he didn't know would make HER feel better but it would devastate him. So rather than hurt him to make herself feel better, the guilt she felt over what she did was her punishment. But it turns out that he DID know, so not telling him made it seem like she was covering it up and he broke up with her. I'm not sure how the situation could have been avoided, because she was between a rock and a hard place, but I suppose if he had confronted her about it they could have worked it out. He's mostly innocent, but there's also something not-so-innocent about the way he let her dangle and twist in the wind on that guilty rope. Whether to talk about it openly and work it out or to do whatever you can to spare the other person's feelings... I don't know the right answer.
I had a date with MidWestFarmer'sDaughter. It went terribly. It didn't start out bad, but it sure ended bad. Not she-threw-her-drink-in-my-face bad or I-had-the-stage-fright bad, but bad enough that I learned something. Yes, that's bad. Then I had two dates with tattoo-girl. Then I was supposed to go out with this latina chick, only I spent the day with tattoo-girl (she "dropped by" which kind of annoyed me, but she brought donuts so she's forgiven) so I wound up blowing off the latina. I called her the next day to apologize, but it went straight to voicemail. She sent me an email the next day saying that she changed her mind and that we weren't right for each other. I felt bad about the situation, but she was right. I wasn't really that into her.
So then I went to drive my car on a racetrack. The dealership from which I bought my G35 turned out (unbeknownst to me) to be one of the biggest Infiniti dealers in the country. The owner of that dealership has a professional racing team, with a souped-up G35 and a professional driver. A couple of times a year he invites his customers up to a racetrack near Fort Worth to learn just what their cars can do. Apart from the 5 hour drive up there and a hotel room, it was totally free to race MY car on a track. It was awesome, but I got lice from the helmet.
So I mentionedtattoo-girl last time. Almost as much fun as the dating is the coming up with nicknames for these girls. In my Year In Review post(on whose resolutions I know I'm only batting about .500, learn to cope by smoking or playing online backgammon) I mentioned a few girls that I haven't written about yet, including BabyMamaDrama and LawyerNotALaywer. Now there's tattoo-girl, MidwestFarmersDaughter (really makes me feel alright), MadeInTaiwan, and GenericAsianGirlBecauseICan'tThinkOfABetterNickname. Unfortunately for you, dear reader, I can't write about them until it's over. It is merely a matter of time (when, not if) before this blog is discovered, therefore it's so much better for my sex life if conjugal relations are already off-the-table with the individual(s) in question. (and yes, I've done it on-the-table)
What I can write about is a problem I've never experienced before: Fear of Commitment
I find myself afraid of commitment for the first time in my life. Interestingly, reading about it online, people who fear commitment most often also crave it. It's this weird dichotomy that causes discomfort. I've always known that I have a fear of committing to my job- I like to think that I could totally switch careers at a moment's notice without getting boxed into a potentially-limiting careerpath. I don't really consider that a fear of commitment though, it's more specifically fearing a lack of options. But fear of commitment to a relationship is something I don't ever recall feeling, and I don't like it. There are all sorts of websites that explain that it stems from stuff like fear of losing ones freedom, space, identity. For others, it stems from a fear of losing something more tangible, like money. A lot of people experience commitmentphobia as a result of previous failed relationships, accompanied by a fear of abandonment, and it would be tempting to blame my divorce (5th anniversary is week after next) for this but I don't think that's the case. I mean, I've been in a committed, long-term post-divorce relationship and didn't feel like this.
But what if, subconsciously, I knew that I had nothing to fear from that relationship because I thought, subconsciously, that it would never work out? That is, if I'm in a "safe" relationship, I have nothing to fear. (But since I never thought about it until now, the more likely explanation is that it really WAS a safe relationship and I had nothing to fear.)
So why am I feeling this way now? It's true that I've been spending a lot of time with tattoo-girl. And although I've also spent a lot of time and remain friends with LawyerNotALawyer, I really don't see any future for that relationship. It's also true that I've always been afraid of abandonment, failure, and other related issues. But that stuff has never stopped me from pursuing a relationship before. I am on the verge of a relationship with tattoo-girl and I find myself having self-sabotaging thoughts about ending it (or at least limiting it) before really giving it a chance.
I think I've mentioned this before, but my ex-wife told me that I "settled" for her, so I guess it boils down to being afraid of settling again. I am curious to see what else is out there, which is probably just a case of 'the grass is always greener' syndrome. The attention that I've been getting lately has definitely boosted my confidence, something else with which I don't have much experience. Perhaps I'm just nervous about having confidence.
I was looking at profiles on the dating site recently and came across a young lady of Asian (Korean?) ancestry. I don't have a problem with accents, non-native English speakers, or Engrish but this woman's headline read "Must Love Dog." She's either a movie-fan or a foodie and, to be honest, I'm too afraid to find out. You probably didn't notice my absence (even though I thought about you the whole time) but I just got back from a ski trip to Breckenridge, CO. It's been 7 years since I last skied, so when the opportunity came up I jumped at it. I'm a solid-intermediate skier and it all came back to me, like riding a bike. I enjoyed the trip, except for the altitude sickness that I got the first night there. Breck is at 9,600 feet and I had most of the symptoms (shortness of breath, massive headache, nausea, chills, etc.) that only slightly lessened after I took an Imitrex. That first night really sucked and my headaches only went away when I was on the slopes. The weather was beautiful though, and there was lots of co-ed eye-candy, as it was spring break. By Monday, however, the crowds at the base of the mountain had built-up to the point that there was an hour wait for a lift. Mid-mountain and above wasn't that bad.
The other major crisis from the trip was my flight home. It's my fault, and I admit it, but I booked the wrong flight home. And boy did it cost me. I meant to take the 7pm flight from DEN-IAH, but I mistakenly selected an 11:30am flight and didn't notice until the morning of my return, at 10:30am when I was still in Breckenridge, 2 hours away from Denver. When I called the airline (who will remain nameless, because Frontier Airlines fucking sucks and they screwed me balls-deep) they were understanding but unable to charge me less than $300 for my mistake. I may have been the one who clicked the wrong button, but I also blame you (yes, you). Your senator and/or representative voted against the Airline Passengers' Bill of Rights. Since you didn't hold him or her accountable for being in the pocket of the airlines, I blame you. (and I feel a little better for getting that off my chest) The title of this entry refers to a famous quotation attributable to George Santayana. Normally this quotation would describe my academic career, but in keeping with the dating-theme I've been writing about, I've been corresponding with another Vietnamese girl. This one is considerably more Western, however, as evidenced by the nickname by which she will henceforth be known: Tattoo-girl.
Is it still called 'road rage' if I want to ram my own car into a concrete abutment?
The G has been royally pissing me off as of late. Not the whole car, mind you, but specifically the bluetooth interface. In case you're not familiar, my car has a built-in speakerphone wired into the radio and a nifty little button on the steering wheel. To use it, you pair the phone to the speakerphone and it automatically mutes the radio when making or receiving a call. In theory, it's great. But the motherfucker refuses to pair. (Ed. note: Not unlike the girls he's been dating recently.)
I don't leave the bluetooth enabled on my phone unless I'm using it because it drains the battery faster. So if I plan on using it, I turn it on, then tell the phone to pair with the car. The indicator light on my car blinks a few times, but then goes out which should signal that it's not paired with my phone. Meanwhile, my phone displays a message that it's still searching for my car. If I close the clamshell on my phone, it stops the pairing process. However, even though both the car and the phone indicate that they're not paired, if I press the steering wheel button and try to place a call, it works. WTF?!
The other problem, the one that really had me cursing at my car, was the voice recognition. The car doesn't have the ability to look at my phone's address book. Rather, it has it's own address book. But it takes too long to program all that shit, and it only allows one number per person. For example, I store "Beth" and the car asks me if that's her mobile number, so I say yes. I try to store Beth's home number and, rather than ask me if that's her home number it tells me that "Beth" sounds too much like another entry in the phone book, so I have to choose another name. So why the fuck did it ask me whether the first number was her mobile number!? Anyway, fook that shiz, because I don't have time to be coming up with unique sounding names for everyone and every number in my phone. Instead, I can just say the digits that I want to dial. (This is, however, a problem because I can only consistently remember my parents, my sister, and my own phone number without looking at what's stored in my phone's phonebook.)
tinyhands: Dial, 7135551212. Stupid G-bitch: Dial, 71355512122? Say 'dial' or 'correction.'
th: Correction. Dial, 7135551212. G: Dial, 7035551212. Say 'dial' or 'correction.'
Lest you think I've got women crawling all over me and I can pick and choose at wiil, it's not always my choice not to date someone anymore. For example, when it comes to Vietnamese chicks dumping me, I'm batting 1000.
I first met "Hiney" (Allie provided the nickname, a variation on her name since Allie is too cracker to pronounce that foreign stuff) back in September. I saw her profile online and, although it didn't have a lot of details, I sent her an email. She responded in kind and we eventually arranged a meetup. We spent a long Saturday afternoon getting to know each other and had, I thought, I really nice time. So nice, in fact, that she agreed to see me again the following day. A busy week or two went by, broken-up by a few emails and phonecalls, but her birthday was just before mine so I planned to take her out on a fancy third date/birthday dinner. We had a very nice (read: expensive) dinner at a steakhouse, plus dessert brought back to her place where she opened a bottle of wine. She stayed across the room from me all night, so nothing happened and I went home. Our fourth date was scheduled for the day after my birthday. I texted her what happened and that I needed to reschedule.
Sidebar: I'd like to point out here that when a friend of mine recently sent me an email that she'd been in a car accident, the first thing I did was pick up the phone. Her email was specific to the details of the crash and how she was doing, so it wasn't that I needed more information. It's what you do when you give at least A shit about someone.
But I never knew whether or not Hiney got my text message, because she neither called nor texted back, so I called her that evening and got her voicemail. She never returned that call, so a few days later I sent her an email. Two weeks passed, by which point I had written her off, when I finally got a reply. Her email said that she didn't think there was any chemistry between us and she wished me luck. Her revised online profile, however, now indicated that she was looking for "less drama." I thought about apologizing to her for wrecking my car, and her evening, but decided to let it go.
Dr. Hottie, much more recently, was another Vietnamese girl that I liked the looks of and sent an email. Dr. Hottie is, as you might have guessed, a doctor and a hottie. She cut right to the chase and suggested we meet for drinks. We spent a very nice couple of hours at a wine bar getting to know each other, then met for BBQ a few days later. I don't like to come on too strong, so I gave her a little room. A week went by and I hadn't heard from her, so I called, just to touch base. Voicemail. She returned my call the following morning, but said more than once that she hadn't expected me to answer. In other words, she was hoping to leave me a brush-off message. The phonecall was very brief. Another week has gone by and I haven't heard from her, so I'm forced to assume that she isn't interested. There are other subtle clues, and I won't bore you with the details, but I'm certain that I've been dumped again.
It's 2009 and I hate the state of things. What really pisses me off is all that "He's just not that into you" bullshit. And it IS bullshit. When did it become OK to not tell someone you're not interested? I don't like having The Talk, but I do it because it's the right thing to do. Attraction works both ways. If a girl can't call a guy, then she's just not that into you.
I totally forgot one of the main things I wanted to write on that last entry, euphemisms. I want to read your best euphemisms for Crazy Chipmunk in the comments.
The Stray Chipmunk has evolved to a different part of the animal kingdom. I'm sorry to disappoint if you were expecting maybe a tiger in the bedroom, but the critter I had in mind was a rabbit. As in, a Bunny-Boiler. (see also: Clingon) She recently related to our mutual friend that she had met a guy online and sent him eight (8!) emails in a row. (Note to self: Mutual-friend is not being a good friend by withholding this information.) Unbeknownst to me, after I had The Talk with her, she also went back to our mutual friend to ask, "So what do you think he means by that?"
Let me assure you, my friends, that I was unambiguous.
Had I known that she didn't get the message, I definitely would not have default-dated her a couple of Fridays ago. We were supposed to meet up with some of her friends which, I remind you, is the only reason she hasn't been deleted from my phone. But shockingly</sarcasm> that never happened. Instead, she was pawing at me all night and when I dropped her off, kinda early I might add, she tried (I'll spare you the details) to get me to come up to her apartment. I politely declined and went home. That evening she sent me a text message stating that she knew just what I needed and that I should call her to find out. (Thus triggering the rant that preceded this entry.) As if I didn't know where that was headed, I did not call her. I didn't have to, because I knew she would call me, which she did the following night.
An excruciatingly long conversation followed, as she explained to me that what I really needed was a 'bad girl.' She was not dissuaded by me asking her to introduce me to one, instead explaining that perhaps I had already met one and didn't know it. I tried to make my point subtly, reasoning that if I had already met one, I wouldn't need one. Of course logic would not work with this girl, so I ended the call as quickly as I could. A few minutes later, you guessed it, I got a text from her, informing me that I had underestimated her. According to her, she can be quite wild in the bedroom and that I probably couldn't keep up with her. Now, I like a dare as much as the next guy, but I am not falling for that one. (Unless, of course, you double-dog dare me to stick my tongue to it.) I stuck to my principles, reminding her that I was not interested and did not want her to try to change my mind. After that, she blamed it all on me for "starting it."
Update to the update: I'm never going to get to click publish on this story because it just keeps going and going. Get this- Crazy Chipmunk and I had other, semi-rational, telephone conversations in the past. She told me about a guy she was going to go out with who is the brother of the step-mother of a guy she was engaged to many years ago. That's right, she was dating her former-nearly-step-uncle-in-law. Only, she didn't want to, she was just being polite because she's still friends with the former-nearly-step-mother-in-law. Or whatever. Naturally, I told her that if she didn't want to, not to. She confided to me that she thought he was gay, being 49 years old and never having been married. But she couldn't get out of that first date because it was too late to back out. What surprised me is that she agreed to a second date. She said he was very nice and polite, but spent the whole first date name-dropping and trying just a bit too hard to impress her. Not to mention that she still thought he was gay.
According to mutual-friend, she is now calling him her "boyfriend." Not a friend who is a boy, but a steady-relationship boyfriend. W.T.F.
It's kind of funny, I suppose, that I found myself recently among a bunch of my guy friends as the one with the most dating experience. I'm by no means experienced, but I was the only one to have been married, and the only one currently even trying to date members of the opposite sex. Among the discussions were those specific to online dating, creating a profile, and setting search parameters. I understand their confusion, and the desire to think that it's as easy as custom-ordering a pizza: I want this size, with these toppings. It would be tempting to think that, after meeting someone, you could ask the obvious question- What's a great guy/girl like you doing single?
But that's what dating is. The whole ritual is asking that question, without using those words of course, and trying to determine the answer. It's like playing Taboo where the clue is the above question. Unfortunately, there are a number of other questions that you also cannot ask outright. What anti-depressants are you on? How is your therapy coming? The object of Dating Taboo is to get the other person to shout out their dysfunction first.
As I previously mentioned, I did actually meet a few people via an online dating site. In addition to initiating contact, I was surprised to find a couple of women who introduced themselves first. I like to call one of those women NobodyExpectsTheSpanishInquisition.
She wasn't exactly what I thought I was looking for, but I'll be the first one to admit that I don't know it all. She has a kid, which I'm wary-of due to the complications that invariably go along with that. But wary-of does not mean to-be-avoided, so we managed to synchronize our schedules long enough to have a drink on a very nice Saturday afternoon in her part of town, about 30 miles north of the city. (For those keeping score at home, that's 2 strikes.) I had a nice enough time, despite the BARRAGE of questions coming at me. It wasn't so much of a conversation as it was an interrogation. At the time, I thought I'd rather be water-boarded, but in hindsight it wasn't that bad, and I do understand her need to thoroughly vet any guy who might come into contact with her daughter.
Ultimately, what put the nail in the coffin for me was her inability to schedule her personal time in advance. I don't fault her, personally, for being a single-parent without perfect babysitting resources. Under different circumstances it might have turned out better. But her "found time" style of dating was too much like a booty call without the booty. The last such call I got from her was at 10pm on a Friday night, indicating that she was taking her parents to the airport in the morning (at least 30 minutes away) and did I want to come meet her for breakfast at 7:30am? Uhh, no thanks.
I wrote this entry a few days ago, but didn't post it immediately because I wanted to think about it a bit first. Then something happened and I got really angry. I'm still angry about the situation, but I've calmed down. I just wish people would stop telling me what I need. These people aren't my family, friends who know me very well, or even other bloggers who've read this blog for years and know my deepest, darkest secrets. I've just gotten a lot of unsolicited advice lately. Even though they don't know about the existence of this blog, I'm going to direct this to them: You don't know what the fuck you're talking about. You don't know me, and you don't have Clue 1 what I need. You've confused what you want with what you think I need. The next time you catch yourself saying, "You need to..." I want you to stop. Change that sentence to, "I want for you to..." That's almost like asking me what I want. It's almost listening to me when I'm speaking. It's close enough for me right now and the best I can expect from you. It looks so easy on TV, doesn't it? You just log into a website, answer a few questions, and beautiful people come streaming down the intarwebs at you faster than you ever imagined. They all love you right away and can't wait to begin a lifelong, trusting relationship with you. And even if you don't fork over your credit card details, it's okay to look.
Well it ain't that easy, I tells ya. Especially if you're like me, an average guy with average looks (like hell, you say!), who suffers from seasonal depression and social anxiety. The social anxiety is relatively new, but if you've ever met me in person, count yourself among the lucky. (Ed. note: Clearly the ego is not affected) I'm not an agoraphobe because I enjoy going out, either alone or with known associates. It's interacting with less-well-known people that makes me extremely uncomfortable. I've been to a couple of blog/internet group meets and it's always the same: I have this uncontrollable urge NOT to go, starting in my gut and making me nauseated. Feeling gassy is not the best way to start a date, let me tell you. But I tell myself to suck it up, be a man, and go through with it, which I usually do and I usually manage to have a good time. Whether or not my companions have a good time is hardly in question. I cannot imagine that they do not.
In September and October of last year, I threw caution to the wind and was a paying member of a dating site. I had created a profile on this site YEARS ago, with the intent of just looking, but I felt like I needed to do something proactive. I rewrote my profile and refined my search parameters, but was still nervous about taking the next step. I took a leap, entered my credit card number, and began sending emails to strangers. I got very few responses, however. Of the roughly dozen emails I sent to prospective young ladies, I got two responses. (I'll tell you about those later.) Online matchmaking is a bit of a numbers game, and one can't always wait for one connection to fail before making another potential connection. For one thing, you're paying for this service, regardless of how much or how little you use it. On the bright side, I was also receiving unsolicited emails initiated by other women. To tell the truth, the majority of them weren't people that I felt fit my criteria for being a good match. But just as I wanted a personal response for the emails I sent, I felt I owed personal responses for those sent to me. Two of the emails sent to me were from women worth considering, so I struck up conversations and eventually met them. (I'll tell you about those later, as well.)
I guess I'm giving away the endings to those stories to say that it's a new year and I've just re-activated my profile. I rewrote my "ad" again, making it much shorter and more concentrated on me, and I've already made for myself a couple of introductions. I'll have to get back to you, but I'll let you know how it goes.
(I promised stories of dates and dating, so let me start with the most recent victim first.)
I should first explain how The Stray Chipmunk got her nickname. She started out as just The Chipmunk, because her face gets kind of scrunchy (not disfigured or anything) which purses her lips a bit showing her front teeth and makes me think of a chipmunk. Cute enough, I suppose. I later had to add stray to that because, like a dog or a cat, once I paid a little attention to her, she wouldn't go away.
I first met her a few months ago when I was having lunch with a friend of mine. She works in the HR department at his company and he brought her along. He really likes her and, being married, thinks I need to hook up. It's not that I disliked her right away, but I was not attracted. I don't know about you, but I usually know very quickly whether or not I'm attracted to someone. Call it my hunter instinct. Maybe she was overwhelmed by the rapport that I have with my buddy- exchanging movie lines, heavy sarcasm and playful insults- but she seemed like a fish out of water. I caught her looking crossways at him when he dropped a not-altogether-inappropriate f-bomb. In public, mixed-company, I rarely curse like a sailor, but there's no question that I'm not a prude. The look she gave him, however, further solidified my not interested opinion.
Then she started calling and texting with some regularity, and when she asked me out few weeks ago, I accepted. I began to regret it right away since, although she asked me to a party at her friend's house, it was my task to plan everything and coordinate transportation, clothing, gifts, etc. She never really framed it like a date, and my buddy had planted the idea that she wanted to introduce me to some of her girlfriends. (Seed corn, my friend calls her. You never eat the seed corn.) I heard, through the grapevine, that she was at her company's Christmas party back in December, looking very good. So I figure I can afford to be seen with a not-unattractive wing-chick. Later, we went out drinking and bar-hopping and, while it wasn't what I would consider romantic per se, it was clearly a date. Unfortunately, she talked and talked without listening, without noticing that I didn't really want to talk about her work. She also talked about our mutual friend a lot, particularly how another girlfriend of hers thinks that they (she and my married friend) would make a cute couple. I know I've been out of the dating scene for a while, but have things changed so much that it's ok to talk about other people like that?
Since then, I got a dozen text messages telling me what a great time she had, asking if I had a great time, and how she really wants to see me again. (Ok, I get that, I really do. I'm a great guy.) But don't tell me stories of some desperate guy who keeps calling you and won't give you any space, then turn around and act desperate for someone else. Well, maybe desperate is a little harsh, but I did get texted AFTER she went out with that desperate guy. That's practically a booty call. Our schedules finally aligned and I had lunch with her this week. She let me pay, which made it that much easier to have The Talk with her. You know The Talk. The I'm-just-not-feeling-the-romantic-chemistry-between-us-but-I-genuinely-want-to-be-friends talk. She giggled nervously and said that she agreed with me, but it really sounded like she hoped for more.
Maybe this all comes across as mean, but that's not my intent. And maybe I'm being too picky. There just isn't any chemistry with this one, so I'll throw her back and cast my line again.
From October to December I spent $6 grand on residing 3 sides of my home. (The fourth side was redone in vinyl siding before I moved in 5 years ago, looks fine, and I never see that side of my home because it's actually in my neighbor's patio.)
Since then, I have bought 3 pair of new shoes (these and two of these) and had a fourth pair re-soled.
I bought a new hdtv/monitor and an external harddrive to backup the new computer I bought back in August but still haven't fully set up.
I bought myself two books when I ordered other Christmas gifts, the second of which I also received for Christmas, so it's going back in exchange for this one.
Every time I deal with that retailer, I'm in danger of buying additional stuff for myself, such as this, that, or these. (not to be used together)
And as long as I'm shopping for more stuff, I might as well get this. (just in case someone in jammies wants to drive my car)
And I want an authentic, vintage one of these for my bar, not one of these knockoff repros.
But, oh crap, I forgot that I still have to pay for all the new plants for my patio. That's probably going to be another grand.
According to news reports, I am the only person buying anything. I am single-tinyhandedly propping-up the economy. You're welcome.
You can't open a new chapter without closing the old one. When I wrote that sentence, all of 15 seconds ago, something clicked and I had to pause. I really only meant to write it as a cliché opener to describe how I spent New Year's Eve, but I realize now that I have to make good on it.
My traditional New Year's Eve has been to have dinner at the same restaurant at which my wife and I used to have NYE dinner. It's a cute little pub in the midtown area that serves British food (bangers & mash, shepherd's pie, fish & chips, etc.) so there's no reason to go there more than once a year. Being a creature of habit, I continued the tradition even after the divorce, except of course for the year that I was inappropriately groping my then-girlfriend in public. (2006- good times, good times)
I tried to go there last night, but having had a large lunch, I wasn't hungry until kind of late. I got there just before 9pm and was told they were closed. This was crushing, since it occurred to me that if this place was closing, just about everything else would be closed too. I burned-rubber across town to a Mex-Mex favorite of mine (not to be confused with Tex-Mex) and was similarly turned-away. The situation was growing desperate, since the Cuban place I then drove by was not only closed, but completely dark as well. One last chance before I settled for IHOP (how come I never feel like hopping when I leave there?), I drove over to a Spanish place that still had the lights on.
"Is it too late to get a table?" I asked of the gentleman who got up from one of the tables to greet me at the door. "No, no señor. Come in. Where would you like to sit? Is it just you?"
I don't know that I can adequately describe this place. It's in a strip-mall center that is at least 40 years old, off of the main street, and has never been renovated on the outside. If I said it was a dive, you'd think it was a dump on the inside, which it isn't. There's modern art on the walls and it's well-lit and clean. Whether it is or not, it just makes me think of what a very hard-working immigrant family would turn into a very successful word-of-mouth business. But bear in mind, the Spanish do not rush through their meals. I knew I'd be sitting alone for a while. I ordered tapas variedad, cordero jardín, y un vaso de vino roja - that is, an appetizer of sausage, serrano ham, and manchego cheese, a braised lamb shank with vegetables, and a glass of red wine.
It was, of course (claro) fantastic. I especially enjoyed the waiter who spoke only Spanish to me after I ordered in Spanish. I didn't understand a quarter of the shit he said to me, but he ended nearly every visit to my table with es todo bien?(is everything ok?) so all I had to do was pick that out, then smile and answer in the affirmative (sí, sí. bien.) with a patient, knowing nod. I left them a generous tip and wished them un feliz año on the way out, comfortable with the thought of having found a new tradition entirely my own.
Wow, no blog I've read so far today has used that headline. How odd. DIBS!
2008 was not a terribly good year for me. I know it was decidedly BAD for some of you, but I think we weathered it (Ed. note: *groan*) pretty well, on the whole. I'd like to recap as much of the year as I can remember, but my memory really sucks right now. See, I've noticed that a side-effect of my seasonal depression (which is still raging right now) is that it turns my memory to swiss-cheese. I think I've managed the memory-loss pretty well, but it still has the potential to be bad for my friends. If you've told me about your new boyfriend/girlfriend/job/disease/car and I failed to ask you followup questions in subsequent conversations, I think it's because of the SAD. Or else I have mad cow. Just speculating here, but maybe it's a subconscious self-defense mechanism for getting me through perceived hard times. They say that the adrenaline released during a traumatic event helps cement them in your memory (unfortunately making it worse by forcing us to relive painful memories), so why wouldn't it work the other way? Depression should therefore block memory formation.
ANYWAY... 2008, the year in review:
Hurricane Ike may have been the biggest event of the year. It had the biggest local impact, as there are still blue-tarp roofs, tree roots, and as-yet-unrebuilt homes all around the Houston area.
That lead to a need to replace the siding on la casa de manos pequeños. Unfortunately, I hired my dad's handyman, not an experienced siding contractor, so a job that should have taken 1 week took 2 months. (I know you're thinking of the line from The Money Pit - "two weeks! two weeks!" but I prefer another one - "You testing missles here? Yeah, it's real hush-hush though.") I should write more about this later.
Before both Ike and the siding debacle, I tore up my patio plants and redesigned the landscaping. Granted, it's still just a design, since I didn't want to put new plants in the ground while the 3 idiots (see above) were trampling all over the place. And now it's too cold to plant, so I'm waiting until March. But my patio is going to look awesome. I took before pictures, so keep an eye out for the after.
I went on a haunted tour of Houston with a fellow blogger and her mother, who kept groping me inappropriately every time we got on and off the bus. (And now she won't return my phonecalls!)
I spent some quality time with my grandmother, who told me some great stories about my ancestors: Some stuff I knew, a lot of stuff I didn't know, some stuff I knew but thought was wrong anyway. No matter how good the quality time is, however, you never want to hear your grandmother tell you about when she missed her period.
I wrecked my car, with a lot of help from a fake-tittied bimbo in an H3. I guess I came out ahead, since my new car is beautiful, but the promise of ass still has yet to materialize.
Speaking of ass, I did go out on a few dates. The best thing I can say about them is that they gave me excuses to come up with nicknames. In chronological order, they were: BabyMamaDrama, Hiney, NobodyExpectsTheSpanishInquisition, LawyerNotALawyer, and The Stray Chipmunk. I'll write more about these soon.
I only read 9 or 10 books this year, which was short of the one-a-month I wanted. The book that I'm reading now is the reason: A Random Walk Down Wall Street. This is the investor's bible and it's massive. I should be done in another week or so though, then it's back to one-a-month.
Resolutions for 2009:
Date more. Eight or nine dates with 5 girls over a span of about six months just isn't cutting it. I'm going to renew my membership to Match and get more active. If nothing else, it'll help me with my next resolution...
Blog more. I'd like to blog at least once-a-week. Of course, it'll help if I have something interesting to write. I'll start off by writing about the last batch of women. We'll see where it goes from there. I'll post book, music, and movie reviews again, and I'll tell all about the siding debacle.
I believe I have found a suitable replacement for my deceased automobile...
My new ride is a 2006 Infiniti G35 Coupe, with sport, premium, and navigation packages. Platinum graphite exterior, black leather interior, six-speed manual transmission, Bose audio, and a power moonroof. To paraphrase Tracy Jordan, I'm going to get so much "nice nice" that I'll have to grow a second dick. (Note: That theory has yet to be proven out.)
The best part is that I've already received my settlement from the Hummer's insurance company. I expected the Miata (which was totalled) to be valued at less than $6000, so with towing, rental car, storage, and taxes I was only counting on getting maybe $7000 all-in. I won't say how much more, but they valued the car much higher. In all, they very nearly matched how much I put down on the G. Yay!
I am in mourning. Today, at approximately 2:45pm, the era of the Miata came to an end.
The accident occurred one day after my 37th birthday, and 16 days before her 10th birthday. She had a tick over 79,000 miles on her. I know that's less than 8,000 miles a year but we loved every minute we spent together.
I had already begun shopping for new shoes for her birthday. With an estimated blue book value under $6000, I expect the insurance company to total her and offer me much less. The airbags alone cost half of that.
The other victim, a 2008 Hummer H3, crossed into my lane of traffic unexpectedly. I believe I had the legal right-of-way, but again I expect the insurance company to screw me.
I am largely unharmed and I declined having an ambulance check me out. I have some minor burns and scrapes on my left arm from the airbag. My left shoulder/neck is starting to hurt a little bit from the seatbelt, but nothing a few muscle relaxers (and a bourbon) won't fix. I also inhaled a bit of smoke/powder from the airbags. I can still kinda taste it and feel it in my lungs a tiny bit, causing me to cough. I'll be fine, apart from the emotional scars.
and F is for "fake bitches all up in that shit." (ed.: We urged him not to try to sound ghetto- he's really very white)
[Note: This is the continuation of the subject begun on September 3rd (scroll down, lazy twat) when we were so rudely interrupted.]
It took me about 30 seconds to figure out that Craigslist is nothing but spammers trying to get you to respond to their ads so that they can sell your email address to someone who wants to sell you v!agra. How did I figure this out, you ask? Allow me to illustrate...
The following 3 personal ads were posted on 3 successive days:
Day 1, Age 33
Day 2, Age 36
Day 3, Age 35
That's right. I fookin p0wn the "Concentration" game and can spot when the same picture is used over and over. This poor girl probably has no idea her picture is on Craigslist, and probably isn't even from Houston. The pictures get reused, with different ages, numbers of kids, etc. It should strike you as odd how few of the women's pictures are horribly repellent. (Although I don't find her attractive, I'm not judging this particular individual.) I mean, the average person is pretty ugly, right? (The exception, of course, being my dear readers) CL women are, on average, way above average. And there is a SURPRISING number of women who are new in town.
This one is harder to spot as a fake, but it's the text that gives it away. It follows a formula used by "Jenny" (a very common name on CL, for some reason) over and over. There are subtle differences to this one, but what caught my eye was that he/she always failed to put a space after the first period: "...my name is Jenny.I am a very fun loving..."
Can you spot what makes this ad fake? That's right, it's the allcaps mad-lib style variable (MUSICTYPE2) that the genius forgot to fill in before posting it. Look closer and you'll see the formula used to generate these type of ads- "Intro: 3 characteristics. Interests and one disinterest. Garbage text. I'm searching for 3 other characteristics. More garbage text. Please contact me." If we're to believe this is real, then this girl is looking for someone who can be attractive. Apparently you needn't currently be attractive.
Note that the teenage boy who posted this ad couldn't even think of more than one FEMALETRAIT. Although the ad body is slightly different, the headline may as well be identical to the previous one. There are enough format similarities between this one and the previous that even if he had gotten the mad-libs right, you should be able to spot it as fake.
So are there any REAL ads on Craigslist? Far be it from me to say absolutely not, but the vast majority are fake. You've been warned: Do not go looking for love on CL.
It's been over a week now, so I had better try to wrap it up. Thanks to everyone who called or wrote to check up on me. Truth be told, I've still got a little bit of PTSD over the whole thing. Life isn't quite back to normal, but back to where I left off...
I turned out the lights and logged off at 11:30pm Friday night. The wind was picking up, but I've slept through worse. The storm "hit" at 1:00. That's when the wind and rain got really intense and sleeping was no longer an option. The power flickered (a/c would stop for a sec) a couple of times, so I got up and unplugged the power-strips to both my computer and the big TV. At 3:30, the power went out for good and I immediately started sweating. By this time, it was like a hurricane outside or something. The whole house was shaking worse than I've ever seen, plus it was dark. I wasn't just worried for me, I had my entire family with me and, even though I'm the youngest adult, I felt like it was my responsibility to take care of them. The wind and rain continued for what seemed like forever. Later I would find out that the storm track took it right up the east bank of Galveston Bay, which meant that the eye of the storm completely missed us. But even in the dark, we could tell when the winds had shifted.
The wind continued until about 10am. There was never much rain though. As we cautiously ventured outside, I could see that one of the downspouts to my gutters had ripped clean off the wall and some of my siding was gone. A little bit of rain got inside, but nothing inside was damaged. Then it became just a waiting game for the electricity to come back on. My freezer was stocked with food that my family had brought, as well as a bunch of water bottles that I froze before the storm. I knew it would keep cold for a couple of days at least. Mostly, we made sandwiches and listened to a little battery-powered radio. The kids, however, mostly ran from inside to outside, from upstairs to downstairs, and back again. With the doors and windows open to encourage a breeze, those brats tracked all sorts of dirt & crap into my previously spotless home.
The entire Houston-Galveston area was lucky that the weather after the storm was as mild as it was. If it had been a typical September day, there'd still be bodies out in the street. It was cooler than normal, but that's still pretty warm and I just couldn't stop sweating. That night I took a sleeping pill and managed to get some rest, laying on the cool, hard tile at the foot of my stairs. By Sunday afternoon my family and I were at each other's throats. The radio was reporting over 2 MILLION people without electricity or water and we were told that the expected wait was 3-4 weeks. I knew it wouldn't be that long, but I wanted out. We started preparing to leave for my parent's cabin in the hill country when my brother-in-law, who had ventured down to the suburbs to check on his house, reported (we all still had working cellphones) that the power had come back on. Still, the women and children went up to the cabin while the men went down to my sister's. There was a lot more cleaning up to do down there, but no damage to their home.
I spent Sunday and Monday nights at my sister's in the relative comfort of air conditioning and hot showers. Monday afternoon, my neighbors reported that electricity was restored to our community but I stayed away one more night. Without gas & groceries readily available, I wasn't anxious to come home, but I slept in my own bed Tuesday night under a spinning ceiling fan, just the way I like it. Cable/internet and all the other "comforts" (intarweb pr0n) were up and ready to go.
As of this writing, there are still over 3/4 of a million people without electricity in the Houston area and a nightly curfew. I went to my local sushi bar Friday night, had a cheesesteak today, and went grocery shopping as if nothing happened. There wasn't even a line at the gas station near my home. There are still HUGE piles of tree debris, but the city is nothing like the images of Galveston/Bolivar Penninsula that you've undoubtedly seen on TV. I saw on TV earlier today that some residents of Galveston are being allowed to go home, not that they all have homes to which to go back. I couldn't help thinking of the Katrina people who still refuse to go home 3 years later ... well, I don't know what I think about that. A lot more people were affected by this one, but a lot more people lost their lives in that one. The comparison just seems petty.
10pm -- Still no rain. Wind is gusting every once in a while, but no worse than a Texas thunderstorm. TV people say that the center of the storm will pass to the east of downtown, which probably won't make any difference for me. The further east though, the better for my parents and sister. Couple hours yet to go.
7:30pm -- It's a beautiful sunset out there, interesting orange clouds with very blue sky in between. The cloud cover was solid earlier, but there are breaks in it now. The wind is blowing quite a bit, but it's not at dangerous levels or anything. It sprinkled the TINIEST bit around 5. I wouldn't have even noticed if I hadn't been outside.
4:45pm -- I don't want to promise that I'll live-blog the event or anything, since I've got a houseful of refugees who know nothing about my blog and it might make them suspicious, but I'll try to post some updates once in a while. There is currently no rain and the wind is just beginning to consistently blow.
Background info: Go to your Googlie mapper and enter "Westheimer @ Chimney Rock, Houston". That'll show you approximately where I am. It's a good 40 miles from the coast and, if memory serves, over 50' above sea level.
This is a hard subject to write about because of the audience, but maybe if I just get it out there it'll eventually get easier to talk about. At SOME point - but I'm not saying whether this hypothetical point is in the past, present, or still in the future - I will likely date again. And as hard as it may be to write about, it's even harder to actually do. Movies and television make it look like strangers meet up in the least likely of places: Standing in line to use the unisex bathroom, across the hallway in a West Village walkup, or seated next to each other in first class on a flight to some sexy destination like Birmingham, AL. While I admit that I never lived in NYC to test that theory, I have hung out around a LOT of public bathrooms and, while it wasn't first class, I did recently take a flight to B'ham. I did not meet anyone at either of these locations. (On to Plan B.)
A more realistic scenario, I'm told, is that men and women meet in bookstores, grocery stores, and coffee shops. Something about buying stuff makes people horny, I guess. I can't even stand the smell of coffee, so that's right out. I do spend a lot of time at Half-Price Books(free plug for the hpb) but I have yet to see anyone worth meeting, so I guess you can't look for discounts when it comes to true love. And I fully admit that I'm just too juvenile to pick anyone up at the grocery store. "Hey, I like your melons. Check out my meat."
The previous quotations were meant to build up to today's post, which is something that occurred recently to me while driving. I usually think up weird shit in the shower, like writing a letter to my parents and sister that reads,
Dear family- I still love you, but I think we should see other families. It's not you, it's me. You'll always have a special place in my heart. Sincerely, -your son/brother
I don't know what's so special about the shower, maybe it's my shampoo. (It's a clarifying formula)
On the other hand, I tend to have deep thoughts (deepER anyway, it's all relative) in the car. For example, last week I was headed to dinner, by myself, at a little Spanish place in Bellaire when the thought of searching entered my head. Specifically, it occurred to me that there has traditionally been a certain nobility associated with those who search. Seekers of knowledge, wisdom, truth. Once upon a time, these were the philosophers and alchemists. Eventually they became scientists or poets and artists. On the whole, these people are still regarded highly (much higher than accountants, if you ask around) perhaps because they're in search of answers, rather than claiming to already know them. I just finished reading God is not Great, by Christopher Hitchens. I won't spoil the surprise ending, but I can tell you that he doesn't think much of people who claim to know the answers.
A day or so later, digging in my garden, I began to think about trees. Trees send out roots in search of water, soil, nutrients. They send up branches and unfurl leaves in search of sunlight. Trees don't know whether rocks abound or whether another tree's growth will outpace its own and keep it in perpetual shade. Trees do this knowing nothing of drought and jumberjacks. Remarkably, trees don't care.
Assuming reincarnation exists, in my next life I'd like to be a tree.
The true value of a man is not determined by his possession, supposed or real, of Truth, but rather by his sincere exertion to get to the Truth. It is not possesion of the Truth, but rather the pursuit of Truth by which he extends his powers and in which his ever-growing perfectibility is to be found. Possession makes one passive, indolent, and proud.
The tourist who moves about to see and hear and open himself to all the influences of the places which condense centuries of human greatness is only a man in search of excellence.
Time for an update, abbreviated version: I met some online people for lunch a few weeks ago. We ate soup dumplings, then went to a different restaurant and ate soup dumplings. After that, there was another restaurant where soup dumplings were served. Rounding out the meal was a fourth restaurant for soup dumplings.
I had a dream recently that I'd been shot in the back, low. I remember calling 9-1-1 and having to put up with the operator who was giving me a hard time because this was notmy first gunshot wound. I was laying face down in the street and the paramedic who arrived to treat me was straddling me, sitting on my upward-facing butt, which was not entirely comfortable. I felt the needle-sticks going into my collar bone, but then woke up laying face down. AND MY PILLOW WAS GONE! (not really)
At that fourth restaurant we had other foods besides soup dumplings (at all the restaurants, actually). Among other things, I ate duck tongues (tasty) and pig's ear (not bad, but not good) and snout (quite good). The group that I joined was somewhat already a group who kinda sorta knew each other. At each restaurant there was always a little discussion about what one member of the group, of (presumably) Russian descent who was absent, would think. I felt like Jan Brady with all the talk about Misha Misha Misha!
If you know me at all, you know I try to keep an open mind, so to occupy myself during the long, hot summer I ordered some gear over the internet. The first kit arrived from Trepanning Depot and was, of course, missing some backordered parts. The second kit was ordered from Trepanation-Haus, but wouldn't you know it, the kit is METRIC. Argh!
Whenever things get rough, I always return to the end. Things are obviously pretty rough right now, but there's always something in the music to light the way and this time is no exception. However, I NEED A VACATION! I wanted to see all of North Africa (Morocco, Tunisia, Egypt) in one go, but it's so bloody expensive to board a plane right now, no matter what countries you're going to or from. I'm thinking about scaling it back and only going to Morocco, but seeing more of the country than originally planned. I'm also considering trying to be in Machu Picchu for the autumnal equinox. Watching China Week on the Travel Channel and all the Olympic stuff gearing up is killing me, since I so loved that trip. But I'm resolved not to go anywhere near China until well after the hoopla has died. I've also considered (and ruled out, due to price) Korea, Vietnam, and Taiwan. Anybody have any better ideas?
It's been a few weeks since the immigration debate has made headlines, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't keep talking about it. I've come up with an idea that I think will make a lot of people very happy, since on the one hand it keeps the Hispanics in Mexico (where some people believe they belong) and on the other hand we don't have to build an enormous wall (to which an equal number of people object).
For reference, here's a map of the United States as we now know it:
and as you can see in the map below, I've made a few minor changes:
Most notable is that I've redrawn the southern border such that we have ceded land back to Mexico. This includes the cities of Houston, San Antonio, Phoenix, San Diego, and much of the Los Angeles area. This won't come as much of a surprise to the residents of those cities, since they already have sizeable Hispanic populations.
As compensation to the millions of Americans (white, black, red, brown, AND yellow) who suddenly find themselves Mexican citizens (instant citizenship through a deal with the Calderón government) I propose that we also invade Canada and take over the best parts of Ontario and Quebec provinces, making Montreal and Toronto part of a new American state to be called tinyhandia(shown in maroon). Canada should keep Quebec because we'd just fuck it up, calling it KWA-beck (it's khe-BECK, people), and they should keep Ottowa since it's already their capital and, well... fuck Ottowa. I think we should also grab Vancouver, since I've heard it's beautiful and Americans should be able to go there without having to cross the border, change money, or endure the scrutiny of the locals who know we're going to steadfastly refuse to adopt dollar coins.
I know this is a somewhat radical idea, but this country was founded on radical ideas and I believe you gotta shake things up every once in a while. Also consider the economic stimulus effect on all the map and flag makers who are going to have to revise all their shit! Way better than a measley little $600 check.
I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but make no mistake, I am a tool.
About Me
Name: tinyhands
Location: Houston, Texas, United States
Some love is just a lie of the heart. The cold remains of what began with a passionate start. And they may not want it to end, but it will it's just a question of when.
