I’m not talking about the terrible Jennifer Garner movie that’s a clear rip off of Big with Tom Hanks. I’m talking about my date tonight with Becky. Before I jump into my rant let me just say she’s a sweet, kind and caring individual that deserves someone better than me.
So what was wrong with Becky, well for starters she wasn’t really my type. She had this cute little girl look that horny Sailor Moon fans find attractive, I guess I don’t have that repressed pedophile gene.
I could look past the looks if she had a stellar personality but the truth is, she didn’t. She was really young and had no direction in her life. Most of our conversation revolved around stuffed animals, Nintendo DS, her tricked out / Bedazzled cell phone (not kidding) and her inability to get out of a dead end personal assistant job.
I felt trapped. I debated running to the bathroom and digging my way out with the spoon I lifted from the table, ala Escape from Alcatraz staring Clint Eastwood. Realizing that it was impossible I turned my attention to the one thing this girl had going for her, an amazing body. I figured I had nothing to lose. Boy was I wrong.
Becky was a saint, a true rookie to the world of sex. I somehow managed to steer the conversation toward favorite position and was shocked to find out she had only tried missionary. Thirty years and missionary is the extent of your carnal knowledge / experience? Jesus, this girl needed help. I almost felt bad for her.
Intrigued and astounded by the fact that someone hadn’t tried I pressed her for more info. Did your ex-boyfriend ever try? Her reply, of course, but I’m not putting that in my mouth! CHECK PLEASE!
Later that night I watched the dirtiest porn on my computer in hopes of getting rid of her saintly / innocent aura.
I was planning on going home immediately after work to do a little cleaning but Micheline sent out a dinner invitation to celebrate her promotion. I’m happy she finally got some recognition for all her hard work.
After dinner we hit Tonic West, which isn’t really my scene but it was within walking distance. I’ve heard of Super Bowl Parties and Oscar parties but never a political / primary party. It seems Tonic was hosting one upstairs and the cover was seven dollars. Eat a dick! I can get the results for free outside on any one of the various news tickers lining 42nd Street.
On the upside, NY1 reporter Alejandra Soto was on the scene and I name dropped Sandra Endo (Sandy’s friends who use to be the political reporter). We struck up a conversation and I think she was flirting but I wasn’t in the mood to pick anyone up.
Rob sent out an invite for his band, Bellow. They’re playing at The Delancey on Monday at 7:30. I hope a shit load of people show since he is really talented and totally underrated. I hate seeing talented people not get the recognition they so rightfully deserve.
It sat in the corner of my kitchen floor with the words Sandy Miscellaneous written all over it. I would have pushed it aside and dealt with it later but it contained the screws needed to construct my bed. I opened it.
This box was a Trojan horse containing a Pandora’s box of letters detailing every facet of the love and friendship Sandy and I shared. Sadness consumed me as I read each letter and note. Considering my fragile emotional state I decided to shred it all. With each letter gone I felt a sense of sadness and relief.
Looking back I wish I didn’t shred them but I had no choice.
Sorry.
I try to avoid talking about really personal stuff on this blog but Mike pointed out something that really affected me. While we were unloading the truck he came across a garbage pail filled with trash Sandy had left behind.
Normally I would have thought nothing of it and just carried it into the house but Mike is a more soulful man. He pulled me aside and told me it wouldn’t be “good” to take old garbage, belonging to her into my new place. At first I stared at him blankly and thought he was pulling the typical Puerto Rican hooky new age / santeria bullshit. But for some reason it made sense and I decided to take his advice.
As I emptied the trash I felt a lump in my throat and my heart grew heavy. Tears began to well up in my eyes and it dawned on me that it was totally over. The fairy tale college sweethearts every one admired were no more.
Until this point I surrounded myself with friends and family to help shield me from the reality of being alone.
Note: It seems a water pipe above my storage container sprung a leak and rained water down on my Thomasville $1300 dresser. Luckily I had insurance but as we all know collecting can be a long painful process.
Tomorrow is the big move and I’m filled with all this anxiety. I think it’s due to the time restraints and financial responsibility commonly associated with moving.
You rent a truck, load up it up, drive across town, and unload it. Seems simple but I guess I’m strange since I find it nerve wracking. Thankfully I’ll have George and Mike Fig helping me out. I really have the best brother and friends in the world.
Ever have one of those days where you feel like your just piloting a mech (walking vehicles controlled by a pilot, often appearing in science fiction or other genres involving a fantastic or futuristic element.)? I know it sounds odd to say but that’s the best way to describe it. I wasn’t drunk or on medication, I just wasn’t feeling comfortable in my own skin.
I got to work and did the usual meeting / design thing and towards the end of the day I met up with Rob for a quick game of Rock Band. While waiting around I ran into the vice president of my fan club. She smiled! It was odd and totally threw me off. This is the girl that can barely look at me and now she smiled? Must have been gas or a case of mistaken identity. For the record she looked stunning (yum), probably dinner plans with friends or a date.
After a failed attempt at Rock Band I headed home to work out, shower and eat so I could make it to Erik’s Leap Year party at Summers. The city streets were real quite since the weather was shitty but the party was still awesome.
Afterward we got a slice at Rosario’s Pizza and hit Vig but it was a sausage fest. I called it an early night.
Last nights conversation with Eunice got me thinking, am I a nerd or a geek? I racked my brain trying to figure out what the difference was but just got frustrated. I turned to Urban Dictionary for help.
Nerd
An ‘individual’, i.e. a person who does not conform to society’s beliefs that all people should follow trends and do what their peers do. Often highly intelligent but socially rejected because of their obsession with a given subject, usually computers.
Geek
Not to be confused with Nerd. A geek does not have to be smart, a Geek is someone who is generally not athletic, and enjoys Video Games; Comic Books; being on the Internet, and etc.
So now I’m really fucked cause I’m technically both.
Tonight I attended an invitation only party for Johnnie Walker at the Cole Hann store located in the Time Warner Center. I’m not a big fan of whiskey but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to drink Blue all night.
After the event Al, Nice and I headed upstairs to Stone Rose. Al took off shortly thereafter since he had tickets to see Pela. He mentioned they sounded like The National and extended an invitation but I passed. I really wanted to get to know Nice since we had just met. I found her charming, interesting and extremely attractive.
Today I realized god must have used the mutant prototype template when creating me. Their have been a few signs along the way like my inability to wink but I just ignored them. I figured it was some anomaly attributed to stress. But after playing Guitar Hero on medium difficulty I’ve come to terms with being a mutant.
When I first started playing Guitar Hero I sucked. I figured I needed a little practice but as I’ve continued to play I’ve noticed I’m unable to meet the non-rigorous physical demands. Did I lack rhythm or was I just overweight? Both actually but those have no real bearing on being a Guitar Hero, just ask any member of Kiss.
What I’m lacking is the ability to curl my pinky independently of my other fingers. In twenty-nine years, how did I not notice this? How have I been able to function in society without the ability to wink or curl my pinky independently?
The worst part of it all is I’m stuck in the middle. I’m not mentally or physically challenged enough to be considered a special needs individual / handicapped. And my problem is more severe than those retards that can’t whistle*.
* Public Service Announcement: Non-whistlers may at first glance seem challenged like myself but in truth they are just social deviants that are unwilling to follow simple instructions. They pander for our sympathy by posing as challenged but they’re just incompetent.